


In the Court of the Dark King

by medical_mechanica, Verdin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Ardyn Being Ardyn, Drugs, F!Cor, F/M, Feels Like Versailles, Feels like Game of Thrones but With Less Death, Genderswap, Knifeplay, M/M, Oral Sex, Slavery, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-06-13 12:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15364455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medical_mechanica/pseuds/medical_mechanica, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verdin/pseuds/Verdin
Summary: In a moment of folly we decided we really should work on our skills in writing smut. The outcomes will be collected here.Also featured: Another world, where Lucis has won the war against Niflheim. Nobody died, Regis is still on the throne and right as rain, vague Solarpunk influences and maybe one or the other gender swap. Probably not a lot of plot though for a change.





	1. Prompto/Ignis

_How long had he been standing there?_ Prompto caught himself staring through, or rather at the stained glass window and the way the sun illuminated its rich colors. A flock of white birds rose over azure waters and emerald landscape into a rosy evening sky, and the light from outside turned it into a composition of precious gems.

He never thought the Crown City would be that impressive, that utterly _beautiful_ , with high arches and gold and the shining black of solar panels making it a monument in obsidian, and even more beautiful with the overabundance of decoration. A celebration was in order, that he knew, the tenth anniversary of the fall of Niflheim and the rise of the Dark Sun. That was why he and the others had been brought here, in a parade through the city together with the other tributes, and now, he was here, in the beating heart of the Lucian empire, in the palace itself.

He wasn't nervous anymore. That much was apparent. His head was swimming in some sparkling liquid that made giggles rise in his brain from all the smoke he had inhaled. More than anything, everything was so _welcoming_ . The sun was warm, and his skin was tingling. Unable to contain a smile, he proceeded to run gentle fingertips over cool marble, down a long hallway that made him feel as if he was entering the afterlife. It was just so _gorgeous_.

"Are you lost, little thing?" A voice stiff with distinguished pronunciation, breath hot against his ear. "Ran away from your flock. Tsk." Prompto had not heard the other one coming, but then, he was a bit...distracted, wasn't he? The sweet substance him and the others had been given had taken him somewhere _else_ , and now he was here. Surely he wouldn't be if he wasn't allowed. This was Insomnia's palace after all, and he was barely more than nothing, and _want_ floated through his veins. The closeness the strange new body behind his was almost too much to bear.

A gasp, and his back arched, backside finding perfectly placed hips and grinding just slightly. It surprised Prompto, but the figure behind him stood firm. It wouldn't be long before he was stone solid at this rate. A gloved hand around his throat pulled him closer against a hard, sinewy body. Leather and more leather. The royal attire?

"Can't talk, little lamb? One for the _discreet ones_ among the servants?"

With a low hum in reply, another grind, and Prompto was trying to turn around to face his captor, but unable. "Hmmm... please," he managed to sound out, feeling like his voice was a song. The body against his was so firm, and only clutching around him tighter, his mind floating farther and farther, along with the puffy white clouds set against cerulean sky.And back, hardening in full in quick order, knees buckling under the tightening grip.

"Ah. That kind." A somehow enervated sigh. "And not properly educated. I find Niflheim's _presents_ more and more lacking. His Majesty will have to make a point soon. Stand straight, little lamb, hands behind your back. Let me take a look at you."

The sweet tightness around his throat disappeared, leaving him free to gasp for air and follow an order his brain deemed _complicated_ at this moment. After much fussing, he managed to finagle his arms behind his back, only to be spun around on his heels. Although the hall around him kept going, the face suddenly before his did not. Soft edges coming into sharp focus revealed a handsome face, obscured vaguely by tinted glasses. Buzzing wide blue eyes honed in on his mouth, lips a firm line Prompto wanted to taste. Knees again buckling, he keened a breathy whine.

A soft slap on his cheek brought him back for a moment, enough to hear the sharp “Stand!“

The stranger did not try to hide his displeasure. He had no patience for his ilk.

Unfortunately, it had the reverse effect, and Prompto ultimately moaned even as he straightened, decorative metal cuffs jangling delicate chains draped across a freckled torso, a laughable suggestion of a gossamer covering a growing erection.

Behind tinted glasses, eyes were rolled. To Ignis Scientia, the young prince's right hand and dagger, the little servant boy was a glowing mess of heated skin and glowing jewels filled with quintessence to keep his free will in check, his features only a vague idea below it. It was the price he had to pay to still be able to fulfill his duty after the _accident_ , to fulfill it even better than before, even it sometimes gave out more knowledge than even he cared to have.

An overdose of the herb the boy’s flock were given to make them docile, and then a hasty flight as the reptilian brain kicked in. Ignis had watched the boy since his escape, and while his mates were waiting in a lazy haze, the blond had been running mindlessly at first, only to fall into a walk  some time later. Ignis had followed him, ready to take him down if needed, but the boy only had explored his surroundings with huge, childlike eyes, instinctively avoiding people, doing nothing more than scaring a servant girl. Finally he had stopped, put under a spell by the stained glass windows of the gallery above the ballroom.

Gloved hands unerringly found the heated flesh under the thin curtain of silk that covered his shame. In the end, this too was part of Scientia's duties. To keep the court's property safe and sound, and if this was needed to keep the boy sane, he would do it. A part of him was happy that there was no need to pretend something like actual _interest_ in the little creature here.

" _Yes_ ," a gasp, and scrawny arms wrapped around Ignis' neck uninvited. Easily sloughing them off, the hand at the blond's length suddenly yanked. Prompto cried out, eyes awash in ecstasy as they rolled back into his head, arms dropping back behind his back obediently.

“At least you are willing to learn, lamb.“

 

Scientia started pumping the cock in a slow, steady rhythm, not willing to break a sweat for the still so useless creature. The warmth that welled in the other as his hand worked from the elbow took the creature in waves, hips rocking so, heels lifted from the ground. They had done their best to make him _pretty_ and _ready_ for his new masters. Ignis had to admit that, as he had to admit that the tiny sighs he breathed were quite _cute_. The mussed head of blond hair threatened to fall back.

“Let us see how long you can last.“ His hand picked up speed, while the other reached for Prompto's jaw, forcing the boy to look at him.

Huge unfocused eyes suddenly became black pinpoints, meeting the other's through tinted glasses in blissfully agonized surprise. Ignis made sure to give the tip of the blond's cock, already dripping in anticipation, a roll in his palm as he moved, gratified as this made the quaking boy's eyes slip back, lips parting into another breathy moan. The hand at his jaw spaced out and squeezed just enough to barely constrict Prompto's airway and the gaze snapped back yet again. His hands at his back came to grip his own ass, barely able to keep them from jerking out and back around the rogue but too afraid of the consequences of the merciless glare bearing into him. Another long squeeze at his jaw and cock, and the blond nearly dropped to his knees, all but held up by the grip on his neck.

“You will ask for permission before you come, little lamb, is that clear?“

Slightly less pressure, slightly more speed, the leather of the glove warm and slick with precum. Prompto could hardly nod in reply, arms falling limply to his sides and his hips stilled harshly as his lashes fluttered. Slowly, very slowly, Ignis allowed himself to find a bit of joy in the way despair washed every ounce of free will of the boy's face. Not that he had too much to begin with.

 

Gloved fingers forced open the mouth open in a moan, painfully digging in between rows of even white teeth, and it was only after the boy understood he was to keep his mouth open that a thumb found a way between the hungry lips, playfully teasing the little pink tongue. A soft and slow whine began to build in his throat, sounding pathetic as he closed his mouth around the thumb and sucked in time with the pumping on his cock. Eyes threatened to roll back in his head yet, and the longstanding whine became increasingly pained, his eyes pleading.

His _captor_ was not blind to his body's prayers. Made room in his mouth, forcing it painfully empty.

 

He gasped, a hollow sound, followed up with a higher pitched moan. Drool dripped pitifully down Prompto's chin, down to his chest. He looked ready to embrace oblivion, panting into the air, as he was forced to take the man's movements with little to no reaction. Tears welled up in his eyes as his scrotum grew taunt, Ignis ceaselessly driving him to an edge and holding him out over it.

“Such a brave little thing.“ A sharp pinch into one of the rosy buds on the freckled chest. “What is it, mh? Too afraid to release? Too afraid of what I will do with you after you spill your seed? If I will punish you for your disobedience, little lamb?“ The free hand wandered down over the bony rib cage, drew lines along the hollows between the bone.

A sharp sigh, not unlike a sob, was answer enough. The freckled form shook before him, hands balling into fists and out, not daring to speak in spite of the pit of withheld desire flooding his senses.

“Hm. As you like.“

And with that, Scientia was squatting down, placed a little kiss on the tip and swallowed it whole then. To the boy, it felt like his whole world was swallowed with it, going down in heat and wetness into an early, all engulfing, perfect death.

Down between the freckled thighs, Scientia was smiling. The boy would make a good present for an old friend, brave and stubborn, even when the own life might be on the line. Gloved hands kneaded freckled cheeks, pulling them apart and tickling the little opening between them.

All of the need that had welled up inside of the blond since he had been brought there, surgeing in his veins finally seemed to collect in his groin and, without even so much as a hair's breadth push, Prompto came over the back of Ignis' tongue. He was surfacing through water and breathing air for the first time, freckled skin his own again, the most of the overdose awash with placating oxytocin, the rest draining out into a waiting mouth.

Scientia didn't wait until the blood traveled back into more vital organs. Got up again, almost a head higher than the lamb, and pried open the breathless mouth again. Spit.

Salt and saliva mixed on Prompto's tongue, leaving him to swallow the mess he made.

“Let us get you nice and tidy again.“ The distinguished voice seemed to come from a great distance.

 

The blond had just enough awareness not to cough it back up, holding the mixture on his tongue as eyes panickedly looked to the source of the voice. Ignis let him go, finally, and a beet red blush rose to his face as he _gulped_ , suppressing the urge to gag.

“We will have to take better care of your diet though. Less meat, more fruit. Come on. I'll bring you back.“ The gloved hand now so treacherously gentle on his shoulder. “I will take care of the consequences your absence would have.“


	2. Gladio/Ardyn

Ardyn Izunia, ambassador of Niflheim and on lost post since shortly after the fall of his _patria amata_ , did what he did every day when the evening came. He _drank_ . Stood on the balcony, watched the sun going down, and _drank_ . In all his many years, it had been the only companion that never betrayed him, or betrayed him only in a way that was _expected_.

The young prince's shield had asked him for a chat in private, and so Izunia had decided, for this very special occasion, to wear the _nice_ bathrobe. He was only too aware that almost nothing he could do would change a single damn thing, so he was bent on at least having some fun with it.

It was to be the first time such a guest would come to call on him, and he was already comfortably well on his way through the second bottle when a sharp knock fell on his door so heavily that there was no point in asking who it might be. Ardyn opened it  to Gladiolus, who just barely stood above the ambassador. As formal as he ever looked in the black leather of the royal fatigues, it was clearly visible that the younger man sported a newer scar over his forehead, flesh freshly mended over knitted brows.

"So, can I come in?"

It was nice in a way to be eye to eye with someone for a change. Most of the folks here were small and somehow _fragile_ , as it seemed fashionable for these times.

"I would never dare to stand in the Shield's way, and how could I? It would be utter madness. Asking for death and punishment even, from all I heard. So please, do come in. A drink?" He stepped aside with something that was almost a bow.

"I mean, you're right." Gladio affirmed, stepping into the room. "I _could_ have just let myself in, but...," he shrugged, taking in Ardyn's quarters, "'figured I'd be polite." The Shield ended with a humorless grin, giving the other a pointed look. His demeanor still seemed casual, despite the gruffness in his tone. "A drink would be nice."

 

It was pretty here in his _little prison_ . That's what Ardyn himself called it, at least. A part of the wooden floor was taken by a flat artificial pond surrounded by plant life. Gladio could see shimmers of the little mechanical sea dragons that danced along under the smooth surface. Other than that and a wide and very empty desk, a fragile construct of aluminum and glass with a matching chair, this room was empty. Izunia hadn't even _tried_ to look busy.

"Sit down, will you? A drink will be in your hand in mere moments."

 

The pond cast interesting light accents over the room, catching Gladio's dubious look as he moved to sit in the lone chair. It was not exactly accommodating to his height, and it was a consideration for why exactly the desk was so unused. The bed in the adjacent room he could see through an opened door told a different story, a vast mess of blankets in purples and violets and blacks. Ardyn didn’t seem to sleep in there as much as he seemed to _nest_. Just before Gladio had time to muse about  the nature of such nesting, Ardyn returned with new glasses. Another nod in thanks, and a sip. It was overly sweet, not to the Shield's taste at all, but potent, and that was appreciated.

 

"So, my dearest Lord Amicitia junior, what brings me the unexpected pleasure of your company?"

Izunia settled down on the floor cross-legged, his glass filled to the brim again. The patterns on his robe were an ornate knotwork of golden ropes and flowers. Silk? It probably was silk. His legs were naked, and he was barefoot.

As the robe airily draped out briefly, Gladio made it a point to avert his eyes as the man that lounged so luxuriously over there was most definitely not wearing anything else under his robe. Stared directly into the tired face instead. "I need your help with something." Another sip, a vague scowl, and he downed the rest of it in one. "What is this?"

“Spiced wine with a little _extra_. The taste of home.“

Whatever home he meant, it wasn't Niflheim. Gladio knew the brews there, and this was not among them.

“But my help? What a rare and joyful thing to ask for! How may little old me be of assistance, revered Shield?“

 

After several beats, the younger man looked off, out to the balcony, and Ardyn would clock the look as coy if he only knew him better. "It's Niflheim. They stopped manufacturing a part I've been looking since the war ended. I need you to find it for me."

Gladio was being casual, too casual, and not descriptive enough. Ardyn wasn't possibly going to mention the whispers heard around the court of what the Shield could be really after, and one glass of spiced wine was not going to do the trick. An inward sigh and a refill later, and Gladiolus looked furtively into the glass. "I know what you're doing, and I'm _not_ going to tell you." He took a sip anyway, getting comfortable on the chair.

Izunia was innocence in person, amber eyes wide and smiling. "A lot of things have stopped since the war ended. And I must admit I feel like I myself have stopped doing a lot of things since that _interesting_ time. I am well aware that a lot of rumors are afloat in these sacred corridors, but I cannot help but wonder which one you are referring to, my dear Lord Amicitia."

This time, he had taken his place in front of Gladio, almost at his feet, his robe demurely draped around him.

The Shield quirked a brow as Ardyn spoke, before deeply frowning, put on the spot. Taking another sip before carefully placing it down on the vacant desk, he leaned in, giving the ambassador a downright dangerous look.

"So, you gonna help me or not?" He cocked his head in challenge.

"You of course are aware that I will need some further specifications of whatever this mystical little thing is you are looking for. And you are offering... a _favor_? Something of equal worth? Or..." Ardyn had very much noticed the little shift in Gladio's body, the way his muscles tensed up under black leather, "... is my sorry little life all I can expect to get out of this?"

"I'll send you a brief tomorrow." Without even the hint of a smile, Gladio let his eyes wander the length of him, top to bottom. It wasn't a lavishious look necessarily, but not entirely menacing either, as it lingered on the the exposed flesh Ardyn did not seem particularly interested in hiding. "Last I heard, ambassadors of fallen countries don't get to ask much for favors."

The Shield had changed his position so that his boots framed Ardyn on the floor. Just as another quip wanted to leave his lips in reply, a tattooed arm launched out, hand clenching around a stubbled airway.

"And whatever _rumors_ you think you heard, forget."

 

A little pant that sounded as delighted as the smile that bloomed on the ambassador's lips. "So my life it is. How perfectly unsavory. Am I right this is a thing that will repeat without us ever becoming friends?" His hand wrapped around Gladio's wrist, trying to take some of the pressure away.

It was that moment Gladio smirked, before ripping the hand off of his wrist with relative ease. Moving from Ardyn's throat to his hair, the Shield yanked the head toward him, breathing into the disgraced man's face, spiced wine on his breath. "Oh, we'll be friends. Thank you for the drink."

 

Almost predictably, Ardyn would later recall, Gladio undid his pants to reveal what had been, to that point, a very well hidden erection. The twinkle in the ambassador's eyes was lost in short order as the offending member was smacked against his cheek.

He did the Shield the favor of keeping his act of unwillingness up, pressing his lips tight and turning his head away with a little noise of disgust. The latter was only half acted. Amicitia had had a long day and brought the fragrance to match it.

"What, _now_ you don't want to be friends?"

The hand in Ardyn's hair pulled as the other scoffed, dragging tight lips across the Shield's thick shaft.

 

A tiny whimper before the diplomat's lips opened up, allowing him in. He briefly mused when to start playing nice and use the tongue, but was left no time. Amicitia was willing to see how much of him the Niff could swallow in one go, and tears stung in Ardyn's eyes as he choked on something bigger than expected.

There would be no room for recourse either, as the moment the pressure filling his mouth and throat subsided, it returned. Ardyn gagged, and the other let out a laugh. Yet another thrust, and a low moan rumbled from the Shield's chest as his hands gripped the other's skull.

Izunia felt his own cock pulsing heavy between his thighs. Decided that now was the time to let go for a bit, be guided by strong callused hands. Too many years of life had refined his tastes to some rather _special_ spices in the _ars amatoria_ , even if he was too polite to ever admit that to his lovers. If there otherwise so well hidden impulses lead to things like this, who was he to stop them?

 

Patience was definitely not a virtue the Shield exhibited, not waiting to fall into a rhythm of guiding the length of him fully into Ardyn's throat and back over his tongue. It was a vague relief that his robe had already fallen from his shoulders as he choked up spit around the girth. The younger man was entirely pleased with himself at the sight, pulling back just enough to allow him air. Planting a stance in the chair, the Shield began fucking Ardyn's mouth in earnest.

 

Izunia was _enjoying himself_ , but also slowly growing _bored_. The beginning had been arousing, but now, the entertainment seemed rather one-sided. His cock pulsed against the heavy silks of his robe and he started, very gently and occasionally at first, to bite down on the invading flesh, just to throw the young Amicitia of his rhythm, just to raise more of the anger that was boiling in him.

After just another casual application of teeth against frenulum, perhaps just _slightly_ rougher than before, and the tattooed man growled, knotting his hand in maroon hair and yanking back. With a solid crack, the back of a free hand came down across Ardyn's face, hard enough to send a normal man reeling.

The ambassador decided to just _go along_ with the impact, tumbling down on his back, keeping his hardness nicely covered by fabric with one hand while the other held a cheek that indeed stung a little. Maybe the bright little Shield would get the right idea now...

And indeed, like clockwork, the thick swinging cock and the leather clad man attached to it was on top of him, peeling the modest hand away and hitching his legs up by the knees. The abused ambassador withheld a smirk. _Good boy_.

A rough hand came to grip at his neck again as he spat into the other, running the haphazard moisture along his skin, and Ardyn had to keep from rolling his eyes.

 _What a savage_. Well, it was to be expected in this land. At least he had the wisdom to prepare himself before this meeting, just in case this bull of a man was to busy aiming and driving home before noticing it would not work this way. He did him the favor to hold his hips nice and still to make targeting easier, while he moved his arms in an quarter-hearted attempt to fight back.

Gladiolus, in his fervor, would fail to notice how easily it was to slip inside the warm hole, too busy moaning in gratification as he pinned the man's wrists down, the second cluster of tightened muscles inside him relaxing, enveloping the Shield whole.

 

Ah, that was more like it. The big guy at least _felt_ good and was pretty enough to look at, and he was really _trying_ to prove himself down there, hard and deep and filling him up so delightfully. Ardyn watched him forget himself up there, started grinding against him, matching his rhythm.

Even the grip on his wrists eased, one of the hands moving to dig into his hip as they moved. Back thudding against the floor, their angle was increased just enough to brush just the side of deeper inside of him, toward his stomach and pitching him upward. The tattooed form above was completely absorbed by the stimulation, growling a low moan and gasping.

 

Ardyn sneaked the free hand around his own dick, stroking the hard length, putting _putting it inside_ the little Amicitia on his mental to-do-list between two particularly hard thrusts. Now and then he remembered to mix a moaned "No..." between his body's gasps, as every bit of rejection seemed to incite the man above him more.

"Yes," the other returned in low growls, gripping a cheek to open Ardyn wider as his thrusts grew in frequency. Letting go of the other wrist, Gladiolus brought the man's ass down hard, grabbing his hair before punching him square in the jaw.

Muscles tensed up around him, and he heard the ambassador wince, even though he sounded more _pissed_ than actually hurt.

 

The Shield let out a hard groan, too distracted to notice the dark look Ardyn leveled at him as they their hips began rocking again.

The body under him tried to match his movements, did his best to get back into his mood, but then repeated "No." Said it again, with more emphasis.

"No. Not like this."

The punch had seriously spoiled Izunia's _fun_ . It would have been something else if it was _personal_ , but this utter lack of self control Gladio demonstrated here was unacceptable. His legs wrapped around those muscles of steel, and he pushed himself up. Pushed a bit harder, one hand on the floor, the other around the Shield's throat, and toppled him over, _just like that_. Grinned a wide grin. Gifts like that were never forgotten, even if he rarely used them these days.

The rush of darkness through is veins felt even better than the nice chunk of man that was still filling him up, that nice, hormonally controlled chunk that had started _fucking_ him again, his mind in too deep to find anything of what was happening worth a second thought.

 

He had wished for a _potent drink_ , now hadn't he? Even if Ardyn doubted there was too much of a poet's soul in him as the rumors claimed when this was what drifted to the surface so easily.

The ambassador corrected his position - grace and poise, that was essential - and started riding that mountain of a man that was nothing but the extension of his cock by now.

 

The pace at which Ardyn moved couldn't be matched by the mindless mess beneath him, struggling to assert himself again but failing as he found himself pinned. An angry snarl that became a groan sounded as hands tried to pry the man back, boots finding no purchase.

"Let me do this for you, _Lord Amicitia_." The golden voice close to Gladio’s ear, and then a hot tongue caressing the lobe.

Ardyn did not wait for an answer. In the end, it was always the same. Incapable men that left their work on his shoulders, and so he went to do what had to be done, fingers firm around the Shield’s balls to keep him from coming too early.

 

"Get off me!"

 

Not so smug with the tables turned, Gladio was pounded senselessly into the floor, leaving him flailing against the arm pinning him. A pathetic sound left his throat as he strained against the ceaseless sensation. After a particular tight squeeze around the base of him, his breath caught. "Fuck, stop-" For once, Gladio's jaw was grabbed so hard, he hushed.

But indeed, the motion that filled him just _stopped_ , leaving his length stuck in the pulsing heat. "Do you really wish this to end, my _friend_?" Honey and chocolate and poison dripping from the words.

A lethal look, and Gladiolus thrust upward in response.

"I'll take that as a _No_ then." A chuckle that turned into a moan. His back arched and he started moving again, this time not holding back, neither in his speed nor in his groans. Well-manicured nails dug deep into tattooed skin.

 For all his huff and bluster, the prince's Shield shouted a moan in orgasm only moments after that, spilling out into the ambassador as his hips began to ache. Not that it stopped or slowed Ardyn. He pumped himself for all it was worth. This was not a boy who was good for a second round right now. What a pity.

What was left of him was just good enough to bring Izunia over the edge himself after a few more heartbeats, discreetly flooding the hollow of his hand this obsidian oil. Remained sitting after that, Gladio still buried inside his twitching depths.

"Well. That was _nice_." Only the tiniest bit of strain noticeable on his voice.

 The Shield was left panting, chest heaving and blinking up at Ardyn in shock. His jaw was dropped as the other just kind of _stayed_ there, bemused, wry smile on his face. A confident sigh, and he straightened his robe. Gladio glared, exposed, unsure what to do.

A friendly pat on his cheek before the ambassador got up. "Let me know the details of your little _thing_ if you have the time. But now, my dear Lord Amicitia, don't let me keep you. I'm sure you have important things to do."

  


The door shut behind Gladiolus Amicita shortly afterward, leaving the ambassador to Niflheim alone to his pond, spiced wine, and spilled cum.

 

It indeed had been _nice_. The boy had potential. Not a perfect diamond, that he would never be, but with a little direction...

Some day, he should kindly advise him not to take open drinks from strangers. That was something _girls_ learned from an early age. Maybe he would, in a year or three. In the morning, all that would remain in the Shield's head would be vague memories and a sense of guilt, just the way Ardyn liked it.


	3. Prompto/Cor

"And what for fuck's sake are you?"

Cor Leonis was not amused. She preferred her apartments sparse and spotlessly clean, not cluttered with royal  _ toys _ , especially not when they were bound and blindfolded with pretty ribbons. Was the boy supposed to be a present? A bad joke targeted at her being considered the  _ iron virgin _ of the court? It wasn't true, not strictly speaking. She was just usually too busy to entertain herself with partaking in the decadence that was so dominant among those she was watching over, but in the eyes of the public, that made her an outcast more than anything.

 

The hapless form, still wrapped up and blind before her, turned to her voice. A blush was already apparent on his face and neck. "Uh, I - I'mma gift from, um, Ignis Scientia? He uh, found me in the hall, and-" the encroaching blush consumed his ears now too, alluding to exactly what Cor would know to be fuckery.

 

"Well shit." She rubbed her face. This time Scientia had gone to far. A little prank now and then, their own way of relieving some of the stress their duty brought, was one thing, but this time he went to far.

"I can't give you back, right?" She kneeled down in front of the mats on the floor she used as a bed.

"Am I... not good enough?" It was a weak question asked into relative darkness, the form curling into itself.

 

"-- what?" She ripped of the ridiculous ribbon that took his sight.

His new  _ owner  _ was a woman on the latter end of her thirties with striking blue eyes and black hair in a pixie cut. No makeup in her face, no jewelry and a plain black shirt over a muscular body. The room Prompto found himself in lacked any sense of vanity as much as she did. Dark furniture and a collection of knives on the wall, but no pictures or plants.

He blinked in surprise between the scarcity and the face before his own. Compared to the relative opulence of the rest of the palace, it could be a bit of a shock to the senses, but overall a quiet pool in a sea of chaos. Cor was what Prompto could only consider handsome, powerful and muscular, everything about her purpose, but in that moment it only served to make him feel worse.

"Please, if you don't like me, I'd much rather you just kill me now, rather than later in front people." He hung in head in shame. It wasn't an absurd request, not after one of the member of the court's pets spilled a drink on the prince and was executed shortly after. It put a damper on the party at the time, but Drautos couldn't let the offense stand and had made a show of it. No one liked that guy.

She just grunted and started unpacking him, simply cutting his bonds instead of fumbling with the bows. Sat him up then and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. "Get those baubles off. You should be close enough to my size in shirts, the rest will come later."

The boy could only sit in a daze for several moments after being cut loose, as if unsure how to use his limbs for the first time on their own, peeling the bows off cautiously. After a blanket came to rest on his shoulders, he only looked more shellshocked. "What...?"

"What  _ what _ ?" Her voice was as stern as her face, but something in the little wrinkles around her eyes could be read as a  _ smile, _ or was that just wishful thinking? "If you're mine to use as I see fit, that's what I'll do, and that starts with clothes and a name. You got one, or did they take that from you too?"

The freckled face blinked, and blinked. "... Prompto?" He nestled into the blankets unwittingly, like a baby bird put back into a nest. He watched her wearily still, but was far more at ease than he had been.

“Prompto. Okay. I'm Cor. If anyone around the palace asks whom you belong, you tell them you're property of the Marshal. For the time being you will address me as such when others are present.“ She got up and opened one of the wardrobes.

“Here, those should fit you decently.“ She threw him a pair of black boxers and a white undershirt. “We'll take care of the rest after we talked about the rules.“

"Marshal." Prompto mouthed to himself as she searched. The clothing hit him in the face, falling into his lap. With a deep sigh, he finished taking off the the remaining jewelry.

Prompto stood, blanket sliding off his body. It was apparent that the boy's sense of shame was more in his behavior than his actions. It was heartening.

"Rules?" His head popped through the undershirt, looking at her curiously.

“Rule one: I will not lay hand on you unless you ask me to. Rule two: You will learn how to handle at least one weapon. Rule three: You will try to be punctual and follow my orders to the best of your abilities. Rule four: You will not lie to me. If you don't want to answer something, tell me so. That clear?“

She was standing at ease, towering over him, watching his movements with professional interest.

"Yes." Prompto shrunk under her gaze, looking away just as he tried to lift a leg into the borrowed boxers, nearly stumbling over. She caught him, mouth falling into an unamused line. "T-thanks." A look to her knives on the wall, to mumble "-uh, what kind of weapon?" He looked as if he'd never held anything in his life, let alone a object made to kill.

“And rule five, Prompto?“ Her arms were still around him as he tried to sort out limbs that weren't quite under his control again. “Never even  _ think  _ you're not good enough.“

This took him aback, leaving him gaping up at Cor. A deep, relieved breath left his lips before he gently collapsed against her, looking very intently at the floor, hands unsure where to go.

"Hug okay?" she asked, remembering her own rules.

The blond head nodded, arms coming up faster than anticipated around her waist, tightly for so meek a body. It might have been the first truly desired contact Prompto had in a while, unmotivated by external forces.

And she hugged him to herself, switching from  _ holding him upright _ to just  _ holding  _ him, nose buried in his perfumed hair. When had been the last time she...

Cor felt her muscles relax in his arms. What a strange sensation, and so...  _ nice _ ?

"When was the last time you ate?" she asked, just to get her thoughts away from the strange paths they were going.

Prompto's stomach growled in reply. He pulled away from Cor, embarrassed.

"Thought so. They like to keep the new ones weak and tired." A little blink that seemed her way of smiling. "What you want? Will let them send it here."

"... I get to pick?" Prompto looked aghast.

"You..." She bowed her head. Put her hands into her pockets. "Too much for now?"

The blond sat back down, dumbfounded. Again, he unwittingly settled back into the earlier offered blanket. "I just thought, I don't know... This would be like..." Implication hung in the air, like the lingering taste of cum on Prompto's tongue.

"Yeah." She scratched her head. Kneeled down on the floor in front of him again, just to be on his eye level. "We... should probably make up a story what happens here. If anyone asks. It's just I... this is not what should become of the realm. I remember Reggie when he was... no. Forget it, okay? Usually it's probably very much like what you heard. Maybe worse, in some cases."

"But, you won't... do that, here?"

He wasn't stupid, especially after his run in with the Dagger. There was no avoiding it, ultimately. He was catching on quickly, if not in a thankfully quiet fashion.

"I promise I won't." That sounded sincere enough. "Never saw a need to force myself on somebody, or to prove something by..." A little sigh, and... was that a little blush?

To this the freckled face also blushed, looking up at her through batted lashes, before softly speaking. "... But, if you want to, that's okay?"

It a statement, and a question.

"Takes more than one mind to make those decisions." She looked away. Talking to someone, even if it only was a servant, like this, was nothing she did. That was dangerously close to things of the heart, and she tried her best to avoid those.

"But one is enough to make a decision about food, don't you think?"

At the mention of food again, and the blond snapped back to attention. "Something solid would be nice." He offered, tone joking but too much to not be serious.

"Meat, fish, something else?"

" _ Real _ meat?" The look in his eyes was too wide, and told too much.

Another look at the scrawny body, and something in her tensed up.  _ Vae victis _ . "I'll just get a little bit of everything and you see what you like, okay?"

A deep beet red flooded his features, and he nodded. "Thank you, Marshal."

It struck Prompto as wrong to call her otherwise.

***

  
  


It didn't take long, maybe half an hour, until another servant delivered them a tray with what seemed indeed  _ a little bit of everything _ . Delicious smelling and so very colorful bits and pieces of vegetables and meats in various sauces, rice and some of the flat bread that was traditional for the region here, fresh out of the oven. With it came a bottle of wine, still corked.

His  _ owner  _ sat down on the floor with him after she got a carafe of water and two glasses for them. "Please. Go ahead and help yourself."

The boy couldn't have had more disbelieving eyes, not needing to be told twice. A heap of bread and a handful of meat halfway in his mouth and he noticed Cor looking at him. Chewing slower, he looked away nervously.

"Some wine for you, or just plain water?"

Prompto emitted a long 'uh', again blinking at questioned that had never been asked of him before. His eyes sparkled a bit, and he pointed to the wine. Then, catching himself, he looked back to the Marshal. "Is that okay?"

"Wouldn’t have asked if it wasn't."

She opened the bottle and poured, wine with a little water for him, wine with a lot for her. "I do not expect you to do anything but sleep after this meal, so eat to your heart's content."

***   
  


And he  _ ate _ . Most of the food had disappeared by the next half hour, with minimal to no abandon. By the time Prompto had slowed down, he was blinking sleepily, glass empty. His face was flushed, and when he let out a small belch, looking mortified, the Marshal chuckled.

"Think there's still a spare toothbrush in the bath. Go and get ready for bed. You can have mine."

Cor had pointed in the direction of the bathroom, so he wandered over, stopping at her words. "Oh, I thought," the blond blushed, bashful and sad. "I thought we'd, uh, I couldn't take your bed. The floor-"

"You thought we would..." She nodded towards the mats on the floor, "...share?"

"Yeah," Prompto gasped, bashful, placing a hand behind his head and unable to look at the Marshal.

"Would that be okay with you?"

He nodded, not looking up.

"We can give it a try. I'm just not used to... just wake me when I take up too much space."

"I'm not used to sleeping alone. They usually," a huff, "I'm used to someone being there." It was clear he wasn't going to elaborate. "I'll try not to wake you." Prompto hadn't moved from his spot, frozen as he addressed her.

"Understood," she said, and that seemed to be the end of the discussion for now.

When he returned, she was in the same things he wore, boxers and a white undershirt. Even more muscle than curve now, her chest almost as flat as a man's. "You good? Fresh and minty?"

The blond nodded, peering up at her briefly, before sheepishly darting for the mats and blankets on the floor. "Thanks," he breathed, settling onto a blanket, finding the floor fascinating.

She disappeared into the bathroom herself, leaving him a little time to get acclimated.

Prompto looked around, taking a deep breath. It was nice. So much nicer than he anticipated, and  _ she  _ was... well, the boy was at a loss for words. His heart fluttered in his chest as the memory of her holding him rose to mind. So unlike the man from earlier, Ignis, so far from anything he had been expecting. It confounded him.

Before he could go too deep into thought, she emerged, and the blond hopped under a blanket, clearing his head and chalking up the ache in his chest to fatigue and wine.

"Okay if I switch of the light now?"

He nodded, settling down.

And just like that, with a little click, the warm light that had illuminated the room so pleasantly from behind paper-covered walls went away. Smooth darkness covered them, covered shy eyes and hard features. He heard her naked feet on the wooden floor, the rustle of blankets then. The warmth of a body next to his.

It was natural to lean into it, and Prompto sleeved a cheekbone into the crook of Cor's shoulder. It would hardly be sustainable once one of them fell asleep, but it put the blond out quickly, chest falling gently as an arm draped around her waist affectionately.

Cor lay in the dark, eyes wide open, absentmindedly petting the freckled skin.

Scientia would get this back, one way or the other. How had he managed to find a creature like him, one that still radiated  _ innocence  _ in a place like this? And why had she fallen for telling the little being that nothing would happen to him, even when he was so warm and bare and eager to please?

A heavy sigh, and she turned and placed a kiss on the crown of his head.

***

  
  


It was later, way later  when she woke from something that she couldn't quite place at first. That made her freeze up a second later. The cold kiss of a blade digging into the skin of her neck.  _ So she had been mistaken. No innocence in him _ .

"Prom?" She whispered. "I'm not your enemy. You don't  _ have  _ to do this."

She was met with silence. The blade held firm, and Cor thought she could hear a longing sigh, before the lightest touch fell against her cheek, falling in a gentle caress down her neck to the curve of her breast. The knife traced gently down to her collarbone. A head of blond hair came to nestle into the opposite side of her ribs, soft breath crossing the flesh teasingly.

She barely dared to breathe. Had the blade not been this close, not this ready to plunge into vital organs, the boy would not have been much of a problem. She felt the little hairs on her skin rise. "Prompto..." she said again, her voice trembling.

A moan, not unlike the kind she was sure he would be making more often had he been given to someone  _ else _ , emitted from the freckled form curling over her, the hand on her ribs continuing down to her thighs, neat nails digging into muscle. The knife traced over her heart, Prompto bringing the point down dangerously hard into her skin, while the Marshal realized an errant hardless was hitting her leg.

Cor felt her body react, but not in the way it was supposed to. Tense up, that it did, but not in the usual response of getting ready to fight. Her heartbeat not in her chest, but between her thighs. This was not supposed to happen.  _ Should not _ .

The face at her ribs was all nuzzles and lips, shifting down into the dip of her hip, knife lingering over her heart. Prompto breathed heavily against the exposed skin just above the Marshal's boxers, arm snaking around her leg. Urgent fingertips met the inside of her thigh, prodding the skin increasingly too close to where her heartbeat had wandered.

_ Fuck _ .

She felt her legs spreading ever so slightly, welcoming his touch, her hips bucking. Her own voice whispered a “Please“, and the heat under his fingertips became almost unbearable, opening floodgates where there had been dry land.

Just as Prompto was all too eager to oblige, the tips of his fingers just edging along the damp threading inside of Cor's boxers, the knife casually brushed back up to her neck, gently bringing a slight sting along its path and bringing her chin up. As just enough space became available when her hips rocked again, Prompto brought a grip directly onto her pelvic bone, thumb brushing along the root of the heat pulsating there.

Without more time for a gasp, four fingers made slick by her own wetness ran gingerly through the Marshal's petals, further and further. Crammed their way up inside of her and reached  _ deep _ , tips hooking back up and sliding teasingly along the soft wall toward her navel.

Cor screamed.

Bolted upright in her bed, disturbing the boy that had been peacefully asleep at her side. Stared into the darkness. Wiped away wetness from her face.

Nothing had happened.

_ Nothing at all. _

She felt her pussy twitching under the blankets, acutely aware how  _ soaked  _ she was, and every pulse felt like a little accusation that she had  _ dared  _ to wake up.

The poor blond, very real and now awake, peered at her sleepily. "Marshal?"

"Cor," she corrected him hoarsely. "Nightmare. Happens."

That was true even. As with every soldier, sometimes the wars came back to haunt her, and the blood that stuck to her hands colored everything in gore. As visceral and real, but rarely as  _ simple  _ in their sexuality.

"Cor," he whispered a smile, already falling back to sleep. A gentle hand came out to hold her shoulder, but no more than that. No knife. Just a small bird asleep beside her. He let out a small snore.

She waited for her breath to calm. For her mind to calm. Sighed silently. She needed a shower, and a fresh pair of shorts.

For a while, she sat and stared into the dark room, just listening. Listening to the tiny noises he made, to the silence of the castle at this late hour. Got up then, as soundlessly as she managed, and tiptoed into the bathroom. Cold water would fix this mess. It always did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, plot happened. Kind of. Sorry.


	4. Ignis/Cor

She had left the boy alone with something that might be a heavy heart, some books about basic self defense and the promise to train with him later. For now, there was work to do, unavoidable and unpleasant, as most of the things that waited in the palace for her were.

Cor wasn't eager to get to her office, but at least the long way there, the one on foot through one of the palace gardens, was beautiful at this time of the evening. She walked through an alley of slender columns, overgrown with wild wine like leafy spider webs, that acted as a bridge over the little lake that filled the space between the buildings. During the day she sometimes came here to watch the swans that lived here, but those were asleep now, dreaming swan dreams, while inside the palace the humans only started their so very _human_ games. Courtship and intrigue and perverse ideas born out of an overabundance of money and boredom.

Her hand touched the smooth surface of the columns now and then. As the sun went away, they started to glow in a soft yellow light, illuminating just enough of the world around them to make the lake seem endless. Sighed. Dodged instinctively to her side just in time. The dagger hit stone with a faint _clink_. It had been aimed for her throat.

 

 

A second one came into her dodge, forcing her to hop back, stepping behind one of the pillars. What had been only a shadow in a neighboring alcove moments before erupted into a flurry of blades, coming around her at all sides and rounding back around the pillar. As to not get pinned, the Marshal ducked down to her knees, sweeping out a leg, catching an ankle. Not to be thrown off balance, her assailant rebounded, hopping up against the pillar and giving a kick to her shoulder, which she powered through to grab and tug the crown prince's Spymaster to the marbled floor. The sheer force of it threw her opponent over her head, and he would have gone crashing onto his face had he not the grace to use the momentum to land behind her, blade coming to rest at the intended target of her jugular, leaving the both of them winded. A light came on in a distant window, and it was then that realization dawned on her. Panting more than she had to, she peeked to see Scientia standing behind her, vaguest of smug smiles gracing his face. "Marshal."

“Scientia. Always a pleasure.“

 

In a certain and unhealthy way, this was true. Their little games were among the few things she _enjoyed_ here, even though his majesty's ban on actual killing or mutilation between them took most of her options away. While he was playful with his victims like a cat with a mouse, she prefered a fast, short fight.

Caught between his body and his blade, she felt her own body respond and cursed that she had not taken a chance to get off while the boy was asleep, as guilty as that might make her feel.

While his breath fell quickly back into an even pace after their skirmish, feeling it against her cheek and neck, hers could not under the edge of the blade. She could almost feel his smirk as the edge played precariously over her throat, just a whisper away from rending skin, the cold metal very real, unlike her disquieting dreams. In the wake of their scuffle, the gentle sounds of the evening could be heard around them. The gentle lapping of the lake underscored the lazy sounds of crickets, waning moon high above them, although surrounded by dark clouds. It was picaresque, and would have been romantic were it not for the threat at her neck. "Blessed weather," he teased, leisurely coming to grip at her hip.

 _A punch against his wrist, to get the knife away from her. Grab the other wrist. Quick turn around him. Pull the arm up to dislocate the shoulder._ She knew it was very possible. She knew he knew. And yet, she remained where she was just a moment longer, his breath against her skin.

“A bit too dry for the season, from what I hear.“ Cor licked her lips. Dry, too, and chapped under her tongue.

In the distance, movement could be read in the windows above, and the other inhaled sharply, as if about to swallow a bitter pill. Trying to pin her against a pillar, she took the opening, knocking his wrist as intended while she grasped for the other - just out of range as he dodged, ducking back and bouncing up off the alley wall to launch at her. What the Marshall knew what the rogue lacked in power he made up for in speed, a rush of angry spectacles and daggers that landed a knee to her chest, properly knocking the wind out of her as she stumbled back, catching the knee. They landed in a crash, Scientia in a straddle over her form on the ground. She sighed, already feeling flush against the edge of his blade at her neck yet again, the other grazing between two of her ribs, danger to her left lung. "Come now, I'm not here to spar."

She smiled, a rare occurrence and somehow a little menacing. "We're just _playing_ , aren't we? Haven't even drawn my sword yet."

He felt nice up there, all tensed up and ready to finish the job, taking a bit of her breath away. She wouldn't be unreasonable. She never was. Not even when he had been kneeling over her, one thigh between her legs, trying his best to choke her out. Cor had been close to just _letting_ him, but... reason prevailed. Actually letting him _win_ would have been a little scandal in a court that lived and thrived of those, and she didn't want to be among them.

The smile was returned in kind. While the tip of the knife painfully kissed the corner of her jaw, surely catching the skin there, the other was traced down her ribs. It stopped just over her abdomen, blade angled up, ready to gut her. Of course, he wouldn't, but as he softly brought up a knee into her groin, her eyes narrowed in concern nonetheless. Scientia's smile tightened. "I'm afraid we haven't yet started playing, Marshal." He spoke authoritatively, but mostly in a way that just sounded loudly enough against the walls of the alley to travel.

"You know fucking well I don't play _that_ way," she hissed. Her hands closed to fists, helplessly. Whatever scenarios her mind came up with, they all ended up with Scientia dead and her slightly injured, which would have been acceptable if it wasn't for the trouble his death would cause.

"You have better things to do then this, don't you?"

 

The corners of his eyes creased in just such a way that read as _weary_ for a man in his current position, even as his chest expanded in a deep inhale, appearing to gloat. With not so much as a response, he took the flat edge of the blade by her hip and casually tapped the inside of her thigh with it, bidding her to part her legs as it remained poised to sever the artery that sleeved through the joint. His glasses shone in the darkness, obscuring his gaze perfectly as he relaxed the knee he had between her legs, replacing it with the blunt edge of his knife.

On the other end of the dagger, she rolled her eyes. Whispered a "Really now", but did as she was ordered.

She would have to talk to Regis about this particular set of rules. Get the license to _break_ Scientia as much as was needed as long as he could be fixed in the end, just to bring any resemblance of fair play into this.

Leaning over her, he sneered menacingly, moving the knife down quick enough so that when a few layers of skin were broken, it was along her collarbone, fabric of her shirt cushioning the gentle slice. Hardly real damage, but an effective shock and irritation, quickly feeling it return to the pulse in her neck. The dagger between her legs rolled back in his hand, the hilt coming up in a long stroke through the bottom of her fatigues and back. Bringing his face to her ear, he breathed, "three o'clock, two down" and for good measure, ran his teeth over the muscle in her neck. And sure enough, there was movement in a window that lead up from a basement she could glean from a glance to her right. Her eyes at him, she looked through her periphery toward the window. It proved difficult as she noticed in that moment that her belt was being cut.

"Oh c'mon...."

What would she order in his position? Arms stretched out over the head, or, even better, arms up, hands folded under her neck. More comfy, too, and with any luck a way to keep him from tying her up. She bucked her hips against him, just to keep up appearances.

 

 

In a weird way, Cor _trusted_ Scientia, even if he was a dangerous madman that _enjoyed_ his job way too much, but he was bound by duty as much as she was, and that made him calculable, at least in some aspects.

He pulled away, dragging the blade up from her belt and across her fatigues, ruining what was left of her shirt, but artfully managing to keep it from falling open. With a flourish, he spun the knife back down, and caught the waist of her pants. Her clothes would be ruined, and Cor was enraged, but even still, that did not stop the rogue from slicing through the fabric, exposing her to the night air from her head to her pussy. Worse of all was her annoyance on how she planned to return home after all this fuckery had ceased.

If only the damn second knife wasn't still so nice and cool against her throat, she'd rip him a new one or two. "Always thought you weren't too fond of my fashion choices," and a little laugh for the audience, playing down any danger she might be in.

The night was cold on the naked skin, the short black fur between her legs doing little in things of warmth.

A humored smirk reached his face, and Cor wanted to believe it was at her words, and not the way her thighs shuddered in response to another roll of his knife, rounded butt of it's hilt between her legs, catching on dry folds of skin and tripping down into those that were growing increasingly slick in spite of herself.

“Coeurl's got your tongue?“ And why was it her talking so much and not him? Usually she was the part of their merry banter that delivered the grunts, while he did the dad jokes. She frowned. _How very worriso-- Astrals!_

“The fuck you think you're doing?“

For all her bluster, the tension the rogue was teasing against gave way, allowing the cool metal to slide a little ways inside her, before back out again. As if to test her resolve, Scientia gently smoothed the flat of the blade at her jaw down the exposed front of her, and she held her breath not to sway the edge too roughly over the skin.

Cor knew quite well how razor-sharp he kept those things, and how focused he sometimes became on their shine. On the way they easily cut through skin and muscle, how the red pooled in their way. Usually, his eyes were only on them, a scientist opening up a especially interesting specimen, but here he was watching her face, watching _her_ , and that was the first moment she was _scared_.

Before another moment could pass, the hilt thrust inside her, and it was hard to ignore the vague way the corner of Scientia's lip curled in what wanted to be a smirk as she hissed a gasp. He leaned in a bit again, not as far as before, enough to keep the other blade level with her heart between them, her pulse pounding hard enough she was afraid of knocking the gleaming edge. "I did actually come to congratulate you, Marshall." He spoke, low enough not to bounce too far, but enough for anyone putting in the effort.

Her breathing was flat now, controlled, winter-sky eyes staring straight ahead.

It _hurt_. The hilt was not designed for this, was in too deep, way too deep, but she would not do him the favor of admitting that.

It kept still, buried inside her, held by it's blunted edge as its twin came to open up one side of her torn shirt to the breeze, threatening to scrape the sensitive skin hardening in the air. "You have an pupil," at the words, he worked the rough metal against her earlier wetness.

"The boy? We'll see to that. What I now have is a broken toy, nothing _\--ah--_ more." Her words were a bit too fast, a bit too strained, and the curl around the corner of his mouth grew a bit wider. "Was that your idea? To make give me something to do?"

The smirk broke out in full then, and for the first time during their exchange, did Ignis Scientia actually appear to gloat. As Cor did her best to keep adjusting herself on the intruding steel while keeping the above blade at bay, he brushed away the other scrap of shirt fabric, admirably gazing at how flush he could get the edge across her chest.

 

 _Control_ . In the end, it was always about control. King Mors had taught her that when she was young and foolish and in mad love with his son, and if this little fucker thought that he had any idea what old Mors had put her through just to _learn_...

It was the first time the Dagger saw the pattern of deep scars that ran like the rays of the sun down from the little dark bud in the middle over the rest of her left breast, raised and pale and somehow still _angry_.

A spark of pride lit her eyes. It had been one of many, and the only one Mors made her keep. She had withheld him creating it without a tear.

The surprise was there, it was _tangible_ , the Marshal could see it, just behind his eyes, but he didn't blink. "You _are_  aware of the consequences."

"Are _you_ ?" _Vague threats_ was a game two could play.

A deep, even breath gave his apprehension away, taking instead to gazing at how her scars reflected in the shine of his blade. The other's handle slipped out from her, the movement already pulling against an awkward suction of tense muscles, only to rock upward externally along her cunt, to circle smoothly around her clit and back down again into her. "You'd do well to remember who it was that gave you such a gift, Marshal." His voice was lower now, terse.

"Believe me, I _will_ ." _I always do._

She sucked the air through her teeth. Briefly there was a memory of a girl dressed like a boy, a girl who tried her best not cry as she was introduced to what was considered _courtly behavior_ , a girl that stopped wondering after a single night why the people hated their rulers. All that was left of that girl was _her_ , patiently waiting for the right moment, the moment the Dagger was just lost enough in his triumph to give her a little leeway, consequences be damned.

The tiniest whimper as he drove into her again.

When it came down to it, Scientia was just a young man with too much power and time on his hands, just like the rest. He wouldn't know her pain, _couldn't_ know, and he didn't have the years on him to know any better than the skittish prince he so adored. So when he leaned in to listen to her whine, all smugness, he left a crucial opening thinking she was too distressed to notice.

What came was unexpected. _Against the rules_.

 

 

Her hands closed around his gloved one, bringing the blade away from her throat, twisting and turning his wrist painfully, Then, all of a sudden, her face was close to his, grinning madly. He felt how his world turned, how he went from being atop to being _under_ her in one fluid motion, felt the dagger inside her move in his hand, and then there were... _stars?_ Pretty and dancing in front of his vision, a blissful thing to see before the pain set in. Flooded his head, hot and tasting like copper on his tongue.

He would learn yet. The surprise had knocked him off guard, unused to the _consequences_ , and his knives scattered to the ground, a heavy gash cutting through the hand he had below her waist. Surely, this would cause the sort of commotion where folks would have to go through the trouble of turning their lights _on_ to be seen to care, but the gratification she felt as blood gushed out of the rogue was too great for her give a damn.

"Scientia..." Her knee on his sternum now, pressing down _hard_ , her eyes wide. "Don't ever dare that again, you hear?" A gentle slap on his cheek added insult to injury. Should he run crying to his little prince, right now she couldn't give less fucks.

He looked lovely with his broken nose, his splintered glasses. Suit him just fine.

A shuddered gasp as he grabbed for his face was her reply, too busy sputtering through the blood pooling into the back of his head.

She pulled him up into a sitting position, wiped away some of the red. Her shirt was ruined anyway. "Spit," she commanded.

 

Awkwardly, he coughed up the blood and mess. " _Yes_ ," he hissed, before another sputter, " _Marshal_."

"Don't try to swallow. Will make you sick. And now..." She took a good long look at him. "Hold still."

From his lapels, her hands were at his nose again, Pushed, causing a sickly crunch and new pain. Nodded. "Good as new." Not that anyone would hear over his anguished curse.

At this point, the agony could be hear up and down the entire alley, lights coming on consecutively. The rogue sat bloodied on the ground, cradling his face with a still bleeding hand. Making a strong sound of distaste, he made a move to stand, grabbing for his knives and peering around at the commotion they had caused.

Cor got up. Looked down on him. Looked at the useless rest of fabric that dangled from her legs. "Gimme," a hand stretched out for one of the blades.

Reluctantly, he handed it over to her, taking more than a few steps out of reach after he did so.

This wasn't about him, though. It was her cutting fabric, creating a new fashion statement of being in boots, a torn shirt and the blood of her enemies. Threw the dagger in front of his feet then.

"Scientia." A nod. She needed to get her bare ass out of here in style before too many people became witness.

This left the defeated Spymaster to duck back into the shadows, headed to report directly back to his superiors, no doubt. It would be interesting how he played off such a noticeable injury in court, but that was a thought for another day.

 

***

 

She managed to keep her head high during the way to her rooms, even nod politely to those whose path she came across. As soon as the door closed behind her, that was gone, and she sunk down on the wooden floor, her back against the wall. A little gulp emerged from her throat, caught between a laugh and a sob.

Prompto padded over to the door at the sound of her coming in, but rushed over at seeing her covered in blood. "Cor! What happened? Are you okay?" he kneeled down beside her, looking her up and down.

 _Ah. Right. The boy was still there._ "My pupil," she said. Started laughing. Saw him kneeling there, his hand wiping away some blood from her neck. Froze, remembering _something_ that wasn't quite there..

"I need a drink. Leftmost closet, top shelf. Grab yourself one if you want. No ice for me."

He nodded, moving in quick order. It was only a few moments before he returned with a single glass, too shaken at the sight of her so banged up to focus on himself. Passing it off, he eyed the way her clothing hung off of her form, before blushing and making it a point to look away. "Can I get you a change of clothes? Are you hurt?"

"Just a little _training_ , Prom. No reason to worry."

She drank, waiting for the rush of adrenaline to pass. A part of her had _enjoyed_ the whole thing, not so much Scientia and his blades, but that walk back that should have been _shameful_ , but the eyes of the strangers, of the damn _civilians_ , left her dripping instead. She wanted the boy to _look_ at her with that same appraising gaze, to follow through with... _No_.

The alcohol burnt a path through her desires, at least for a moment.

The blond fidgeted a few paces away, walking back and forth as if to grab something, but unsure what to grab.

She patted for him to sit at her side.

Prompto finally sat beside her. "Cor..." he started, looking at her dolefully as he reached out to hold her hand, but stopped himself short.

He got the hand nonetheless and, after a second gulp, the glass.

He nodded, hopping back up, "Refill?" he asked, looking at her. Cor stared a lengthy stare back. He refilled it.

"Sit. And drink with me." The boy couldn't misunderstand that, could he?

He looked stunned, before finally grabbing himself another glass. Pouring himself a small drink, he returned to her side, sitting down before her.

 

"We need," she started after half a glass, "to find a way to get you out if here safely. Or through here safely, even though I have no good idea how." She started to peel out of her ruined shirt. "Was as good as new, you know? I _liked_ it."

Taking a sip midway through her sentence, but he nearly choked. "What? Why? Where?" The freckled face was so lost, quickly whipping around as she undressed.

"Why is it okay if you jump around in front of me like Eos created you and total horror when I do it? There's no difference in it, so..."

"You didn't tell me if it was okay!" Her earlier words thrown back in her face.

She blinked. "Do you mind to see me without clothes? Because I stopped minding that years ago. Too many years with... under certain circumstances will do that to you. It's a very different thing from touching."

"I, -uh, oh." He peered up at her slowly, through parted fingers. "I just, well... I'm _yours_. You aren't..." Mine. Was the implication. It ticked off yet another box on the growing list of reasons Cor was coming to hate this place more and more. Prompto, albeit bashfully, dropped his hand and met her gaze evenly.

"See? Just another body. Just another human. I'd like to be your friend, if I may. We all could need those."

Somehow, like this, in the dimly lit room, she reminded him of _home_. Dirty and hurt and poorly dressed.

After a beat, he nodded, smiling weakly, before noticing the scar on her breast. Jaw dropping, the conflict of a far older wound that anticipated flickered over his features. "Uh..."

"Spit it out." She drank.

"I, uh, I didn't..." The blond shook his head, looking down bashfully, before taking a breath and looking back up. "How old is that?" It was a more confident start than the last, but he still looked pained.

"That?" She followed his gaze. Briefly touched one of the raised lines. "Twenty years, almost. Used to be... more impressive." A lopsided smile.

"Shall I tell you how it happened?"

Prompto gazed down, looking at her through lowered lashes, and nodded.

"Get the bottle. This isn't happening sober."

A few moments later, and they were both sat on the mats of Cor's bed. She had refilled Prompto's glass, but kept the bottle for herself after that.

She drank. Threw a blanket over the both of them, like a kid at a sleepover when telling a scary story, and took a deep breath. "It was quite I while ago. I was about your age then..."


	5. Mors/Cor

"I beg nothing more of you, Your Majesty!"

The boy lay at Mors' feet, and he heard him trying not to sob, neither of which he considered to be a bad state for a boy to be in. It was a silly little wish he had there. To serve the royal family like his parents did,before. His parents had died as heroes of the country, that much his chamberlain had verified, even though he was now throwing him the usual _Shall this thing be taken care of?_ -gaze that lead to petitioners being taken away.

The boy was pretty enough, his head shorn, with some of the brightest blue eyes Mors had seen in quite a while. Not soft enough for a concubine, and too tall for his liking, but _interesting_ enough at least, and he begged so willingly.

"Father?" His son, straight and upright where Mors was a lot of everything, bowed over to him. "I don't want to leave him here. He's so _young_ , and so... _sad_." The prince gave him puppy eyes, a habit he should have grown out of.

"Do you want him as your pet? Then take him. A leash would suit him just fine." Mors yawned. The visit to this little town at the border was even less interesting than he had suspected. Of course he had promised to see how the lines of the border had changed. To inspect the victorious soldiers. That he had done. Shaken a few hands, given out a few medals. And now it was for the pesky locals.

It was his son that had asked him kindly to show his face to them, just for a few moments, to wave a little. Be a monarch of the people, and _this_ was what he ended up with. _Marvelous_.

Prince Regis shot back a distasteful look, but did not check his father. Sighing, he gazed sadly down at the prostrate boy before them. Feebly, the gangly thing angled his head up just enough to catch his eye, although only briefly as eyes darted back away. "Let him serve," he tried again, in only the way a young man trying on his father's tone could have, " _surely_ we have use for someone so determined."

They were sitting in a restaurant that was praised as the town's best, and while the cook might indeed above decent, the things he had to work with were what a war left in a _liberated_ city, and those were not quite up to Mors' refined taste.

Regis remembered his father a decade ago, when his energies went into politics and what counted for _romance_ at the Insomnian court. These days it was food that gave him pleasure, and things with some of the servants that only were talked about with hushed voices, things Regis liked to _forget_ and that came back with full force even before he finished his sentence. Even before there was this subtle change in his father's face, and he patted his knee. "Your head. Here."

The boy hurried to follow, delicately placing his head on the black fabric like a royal on a chopping block. Winter eyes looking up to the prince in utter gratitude and fear of things to come. How old might he be? Not even a hair on his chin, and a blush blooming on his cheeks as Mors' fingers came down to gently scratch his scalp.

Regis' lips parted, protest nearly surfacing, but simmering back down as the boy stayed completely still. Trying to convey a semblance of comfort in the look the prince returned to the frightened eyes, the king's mouth curled into a self-satisfied smirk leveled at his son.

"Since you don't want him for yourself, I will keep him for the time being. Find _use_ for him." Mors smiled, still an attractive man when he did, and dragged down one long nail down the soft nape of the neck, leaving a red streak. The boy's eyes grew wide, but he didn't flinch.

"Brave little thing." A pat on the bald head.

" _Father_." Regis' eyes narrowed, his mind twisting in circles. There had to be something to be done to keep the lad from becoming just another perverted whisper amongst the servants. "Such resolve," he added in agreement, changing tactics yet again. "Allow him to join the Crownsguard." It was the best he could come up with.

"Don't be silly, Reggie. He's still a kid. Wouldn't survive the Guard for more than a heartbeat."

The boy's lips formed a silent _Would_ , and all of a sudden defiance glowed in his eyes.

 

"At least let him prove himself."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, a cold chill running down his spine as he realized the weight of the implication, and immediately regret it. While the phrase would have a lesser meaning to others on the Insomnian court, King Mors was never a man to miss taking a suggestion to an extreme conclusion to prove others wrong. He waged an entire war on it.

"You have heard my son." Mors dragged up the bony chin to look into his eyes. "I shall let you _prove yourself_. Do you think you have what it takes?"

The boy bit his lip. Nodded, then.

"No tears, no matter what will happen?"

The blue eyes grew huge. "No tears," he repeated. "No matter what will happen."

Regis grimaced, the dark expression appearing petulant on the young man's face. To Mors, his son pouted and huffed in the opposite direction, when in actuality, he just ashamedly looked away. It was out of his hands then, and the pang of guilt that sat in his gut gnawed on him.

 

***

 

Mors had taken him home. Home to the Crown City, much darker and dirtier and bigger than he ever imagined. He had been sharing his carriage, the head on the old man's lap, being treated like a new pet, not like a human. Never been directly spoken to. They had left him in the simple rags he wore, given him no chance to chance them or even properly wash. _His Majesty will take care of that_ they said.

The prince stalked the glittering halls, avoiding the familiar faces of Clarus and Weskham, all while trying to discern where his father had put the boy. It had been a beautiful day at the palace, and he knew the king wouldn't miss a chance at utilizing it to put his new toy to use. After a few hours of casual eavesdropping, Regis discovered his father under an elaborate tent on the rooftop of a secluded section of the Citadel. While it looked as if it could house a decently size event, and had once in the past, it was seldom used outside of Mors more _extravagant_ tastes. Regis avoided it if possible, rather letting his father’s proclivities go on without his knowledge, but the boy's fate weighed too heavily on his mind. Surely enough, his father was there, as was his new boy.

 

"Kneel." Mors voice was gentle. Today, he wore _white_ . Long, immaculate robes, sewn with golden thread. He had told them to make the tent a Solheimian temple, and that was what they did. An altar to _Sol Invictus_ , little ones for the other Astrals, the air thick with incense. A copper basin with water made up the center of the place, a sun engraved on its bottom.

As Regis spotted them, the boy placidly kneeled. Unlike before, his resolve had dissipated somewhat, eyes wide with apprehension. Waving through some particularly heavy tendrils of smoke, the prince approached, however lingering at the grandiose entrance as per Mors' preference. "Your Majesty." He greeted, not missing the dirty look the king shot in his direction upon the interruption, nor the look of relief that flooded the boy's face at the same time. "Reggie. _Do_ come in. I just wanted to clean him up. You wish to start with his face and head? The pure places for my pure son." The irony in his father's voice was not lost on him

The prince withheld an eyeroll, giving a nod and stepping into the tent ceremoniously. There was skylight cut into the fabric of the tent above the basin, allowing bountiful sun to pour in and illuminate the space. The white of Mors robes reflected around him, onto the hapless face of his newest pet, and as Regis came to step into the light his father vacated for him to occupy, he noticed how _soft_ the boy's features looked. Mors handed Regis a brilliantly embroidered linen handkerchief, also lined with gold, terrible for practical use, but that had never been the point. Face falling into a stoic line, he ran the cloth through the basin, before, in his only act of allowable defiance, he came to kneel before the boy. A desperate gaze locked with his own, and something in his chest shifted. Bright blue bore into Regis as he tenderly came to grasp the dirtied face. Carefully, he began to wipe away the grime, taking the softest side of the fabric he could find and running it over the boy's cheek. The tension seemed to float away from the wretch like the smoke around them, and the prince let the smallest of warm smiles creep onto his face. The poor thing looked shocked, something shining behind his eyes, easing into the touch.

Yet the winter eyes did not close. The lids heavy, the rosy lips slightly opened, as if asking for a first kiss. He felt the boy's sweet breath  on his skin.

Mors watched them, nodding contently. It was one of the rare time in the last years the prince had seen his father that way.

 

Regis continued, successfully managing to clear off most of the dirt from his face, having shifted closer to the boy as he worked. However, the dinky piece of cloth was a lost cause at this point, and he looked at it with disdain as it quickly crumpled under the sheer amount of muck the boy was covered in. With little decorum, the prince tossed it aside, and, with another teasingly defiant look to his father, stood up and undid his pristine jacket, undid the top few buttons of his shirt. Tugged at the cravat he was so used to wearing, a larger swath of fabric much softer and more suitable, and brought that through the water. Returning to the silent and stunned form on the floor, the prince took a knee, holding out an arm to the boy. Brows lifted cautiously, questioningly, suspiciously in response, before Regis gave a quick nod. Tentatively, the boy leaned into his arm, which came to drape around his shoulders. Regis was sure this was _benevolence_ , the sort his father had long since passed showing, but his breath wanted to catch as the warmth of the body quietly latched onto his shirt. He gave the shoulder in his hand a light squeeze in reply. Not failing to shoot a pointed look to the king over the boy's shoulder, Regis proceeded to clean the shorn head, hand running over the dirty scalp in a manner far more loving than the king had been practicing.

The boy closed his eyes, letting the prince do what the prince wanted to do. It was Mors who saw him bite his lower lip. It was Mors who saw him hold back the tears, and it was Mors who was smiling all through the ordeal.

 

Regis continued for a while longer, holding onto the boy as he scrubbed his head. The cravat was soiled beyond recognition, but had been far more efficient. With a gentle sigh, the prince finished, pulling the form away and holding the boy out at arm's length, incense curling around them forebodingly. He had been reluctant to pull back, concern flickering back into the young face. The hand on his shoulder lingered, running up to his hairless jaw. With a brush of a thumb over his cheek, Regis stood, retreating from the light and the form of the boy before him. Whatever warmth had been in his expression deadened.

The boy's eyes stared into nothingness.

"Is this what you expected, _son_ ?" Mors had stepped behind the slender form and laid his arm around him. Tugged at his cheek, so the lifeless eyes stared at the prince. "You finally need to remember they are not like _us_. Tenderness breaks them as much as violence."

At this, Regis did finally roll his eyes, crossing his arms defensively. There was an air about him that lent to someone proven wrong about a theory instead of an actual life, but it passed. Straightening where he stood, he vaguely huffed at his father in response. The space for rebellion had closed.

"You may leave now. Or do you wish to watch?" For once, the old kind sounded _friendly_.

 

Oh, how Regis wanted leave. Wanted to leave, and run, far far away from his father and the kingdom he was supposed to inherit, moreso than anything in that moment, but he couldn't. The look in the boy's eyes, of _nothingness,_ unsettled him. He could already recall how soft the skin under all of that dirt had been, how his eyes shone in the sunlight, and the prince _knew_. Had he walked away in that moment, any information he received after the fact about the king 'breaking another toy' would torture him for the rest of his days. "I'll remain here." A quick breath seemed to fall out of the boy, but he couldn't be sure if it was from his words or the way the king's arms had snaked around him.

"Sit:" A nod towards the altar. "Grab a drink. And you...." a little drag on the boy's rags, "... come here. Stand."

His ring-encrusted fingers peeled fabric of the dirty skin, the boy's back towards the altar. He was so _thin_ under there, ribs and spine clearly visible through the pale flesh. Mors was making a _show_ out of undressing him, not even for this little audience, but for himself, pretending to be the high priest of a long lost faith.

Withholding a long sigh, Regis stepped over to the marble surface. Sitting as instructed, his eyes scanned the sky, idly wondering on anywhere else but his current position.

A first bowl of water was poured over the boy, washing away some of the grime. He did not make a sound. So very _thin_...

It was the first time the prince saw one of the people from the torn regions up so close.

"Bow." Mors commanded, pulling the boy's head over the copper basin. Standing behind him, shielding him from the Regis' view, but the way the boy's body shuddered, the way his father's arm moved _forward_ , he was happy not to see more. The king pushed the boy's head under the shining surface.

One.

Two.

Three.

And up with him. No struggle. No sound, just a silent little dance of his hips on Mors' fingers.

Regis's face fell. Eyelid twitching in disgust as Mors worked his arm further, he tried to at least be impressed by the boy's resilience as he was pushed back down again and held, with no more than a bubble disturbing the water around his head. Upon surfacing a second time, a loud gasp could be hear from the boy, but that was it. Just as the king moved to repeat the process, Regis cleared his throat.

It was after a small eternity that his father seemed satisfied with this part of his work and ordered the boy to stand, which he did, even when his knees were shaking. Took down the first layer of his robes then, soaked them in clean water and started rubbing the dirty skin down. Not tenderly, but with the intent to get him _clean._ The boy's pale skin turned red under his ministrations.

And yet still, not a word or sound from the poor soul. Regis blinked, silently fascinated by his resolve.

The second layer was wrapped around the boy like a blanket, and the old king led him towards his son, both of his hands on the fragile shoulders. A flush was on the pale face, and his lips were swollen. "I ask you again, Reggie. Do you want him for your own?"

The boy looked so disconnected, still trying to regain a sense of control over the oxygen he had just gone without. Prince Regis batted his eyes at his father, obviously seeing something there that the old man did not. Shifting in his position on the altar, he straightened to reply, giving a curt nod. Regis cleared his throat. "If you would be so kind, Your Majesty." Surprise dawned on the boy's face. Winter sky eyes tried to focus on him.

"You shall have him at sundown. Now _go_ ." A _and play with your toys_ was in there, unspoken.

And, in the strangest twist of unexpected freedom and certain doom held in his gut, Regis proceeded out of the tent and away from the scene. Of course, there were the servants and guards outlining the rooftop, but none would keep the king from whatever it was he was to do in his son's absence. He held a firm expression until finally back in his own quarters, where he sighed heavily, staring out of the large window and to the horizon above. It was only noon.

"He'll have you at sundown, _boy_." Mors chuckled. Tore away the fabric from the slender body. “I will not change the rules about women in the Crownsguard just like that, but then… should one manage to become a part of it…”

 

The frail body held still despite the force with which the fabric was ripped away, eyes shutting the only indication of trepidation as the body was laid bare before the king, revealing what the prince, and initially he himself, had missed about the wretch's anatomy.

"Come. I doubt my son will be as amused."

Mors took him by the hand. Lead him to the altar, where the prince had been seated, and lifted him up. Spread tender legs.

The young Cor Leonis blinked up at the earlier patch of sky, ignoring the shaking breath that left abused lungs. Continued as a beautiful bird landed on the edge, unlike any seen before (hands shifted, hips as bare skin scraped over marble). The tongue that ran up the length of a scared cunt sent a wave of shock through the frail body, trailed behind by a confused wetness at the sensation.

 

The old king was delighted be something for a change, short-lived as that delight might be with him. Another slow lick,savoring her, tasting sweat and fear and youth. Pulling apart her lips with his fingers then, focusing on the little knob of nerves between them. Two of his fingers dove into her, opening up a tight channel. No skin to break here, but then, what did he care.

Cor's hips writhed upward at the intrusion, gasping boldly as she was pried open. Staggered breath wracked through her, falling back onto her hands as the fingers inside of her pressed and searched the soft tissue. Upon coming up on the hard curve deep within her, he prodded testingly, and she wanted to let out a cry, but clenched a jaw and took in a deep breath in an attempt to even out.

Slowly, ever slowly. The old king had all the time he needed. She was behaving up there. _Good boy._ Pulling back bit by bit, finding the rough surface on the upper wall with his fingers. _Tasting_ her as she started  to drip, returning to her clit then. He could be patient once in a while, and whatever she had experienced before, it had not been to her liking. _This was new_.

Another gasp, this time sharper, and the smallest hum left her chest as she arched. He could hear her breath fall in increasing sighs and gasps as he closed his mouth around the nerves centered there with a gentle suck. Cheeks flushed at the subtlest of tugs up at the rough tissue, blinking down at him through heavy lids as she struggled to hold back a moan, jaw agape.

 

And again, what a _good boy_ . He would see how long she could keep at it, being silent and brave. He sucked at the little pearl, making a mental note to have it decorated to his liking soon, and curled his fingers a bit more, letting them dance on the melting surface. _Ah, she was so warm..._

Cor fell back as her hips rocked into Mors' movements, back meeting cold white marble. With the adjustment of his jaw to more adequately catch the wetness eeking out of her, a breathy high pitched keen caught itself as it threatened to escape her throat, and she brought a quick hand over her mouth. Frightened eyes looked down, and she bit down on her her own hand to muffle a breathy sigh as her nostrils flared.

He bit down, friendly still, but making a point. Further transgressions would be punished. Barely raised a brow when she kept on pushing instead of pulling back.

His ring finger, the one decorated with the sacred treasure of his family, wormed its way through her wetness between her cheeks. Politely knocked for entrance there.

 

Eyes rolling back in her head, she let herself go, hands thrown back and mouth open in a series of silent moans, writhing against the king's mouth. As he reached for still more of her, she pulled knees in and scooted her ankles open, aiding in his access to gently tip into Cor's ass. She wanted to moan, breath falling in erratic patterns. With a thorough suck to her clit, the ring finger was swallowed deeper inside her, leaving the king to gently begin to knead each opening at the same time. Her entire body convulsed, hissing as she threw herself back against the marble, helpless to the way she seemed to gush into his mouth.

 _Delicious_.

He never saw the need to move to much, neither his body nor... It were the essentials that were important, those little, unrelenting touches that drove people mad if he just kept at them long enough.

It would be those exact unrelenting movements that would send her over the edge, as he cheekily hooked upward and pinched the tissue between his fingers. Everything inside of her twinged and she flinched, Cor nearly screamed a moan, her head hitting the alter with a thud as she threw it back. She wouldn't even been finished riding out her orgasm before bringing a hand back to her mouth in horror, breath a sob between the fear and release.

He sat smiling between her thighs, licking her clean like a cat grooming her young. Watched her, the young face torn.

Finally wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

"Not the worst start, boy."

Cor slowly sat upright, leaning on an arm and panting, looking hopelessly dazed. "Th... thank you, my king." The words breathlessly left her lips, unable to look him in he eye as she shuddered, orgasm still rolling over her in waves.

 

***

 

 

Cor looked down at the boy staring, his mouth open. "What?"

"You... and... King Mors?" Prompto sat with his drink mostly empty, matching her bottle. His gaze was impressed, but terrified, eyes still lingering on the scar tissue.

"Me and King Mors." She nodded. Filled the rest into his glass. "Still think he was very willing to kill me at first while I came on his dick. Just my luck he found something he didn't expected as he unwrapped me."

The blond continued to gape, until realizing his drink was full and downing a solid gulp at the full weight of her words.

"Things here have gotten worse since then, from all I've seen. I just want you to know where I'm coming from. That I'm not as far from you as it seems." She tried a smile.

In solidarity, the smiled flickered to him as well. "But... what happened with King Regis?"

"Reggie?" She sighed. "That's a whole different story..."

 


	6. Regis/ Cor

As dusk descended and the boy hadn't shown up, Regis grew worried. He had been pacing in his room for the past hour, discontent after a bout walking around the Citadel, having finally caught up with his subordinates. However, the moment he finally decided to throw open the door to his chambers, the familiar face was there.

"Oh, I was just about to- Please come in." The prince looked both ways up and down the hall before stepping aside. Cor entered the room, finally wearing fresh clothing, simple and fit for someone of his status of new pet to the prince.

 

The skin that had been covered in dirt and dust before was flushed now, pink as if smacked and scrubbed, and rage boiled low in royal veins. Most importantly, however, was how the boy carried himself. The young heir noted it when looking him over. He no longer seemed quite the quivering wretch that had come to them on his knees, more a young warrior that just had survived his first rite of initiation. Regis was about to speak when the boy gave him a deep bow. "Your Highness."

His voice was smooth and bright, untainted by the change hormones brought. Might make a decent tenor if it stayed that way.

"It was your wish to have me. How may I serve you?" He heard his father in her words.

Regis quirked a brow, studying the form before him. Still blissfully unaware of the discovery his father had made, in addition to being without the wherewithal or discretion of King Mors, he appraised the boy before him. Certainly he had a certain amount of stamina to have made it past his father. As much as it made him uneasy, it only proved his assumption correct. Taking heart in that fact, he placed a hand on the young man's shoulder and smiled. "Yes, I'd like to make you my bodyguard. Eventually."

"Your Highness?" The blue eyes grew huge. _Was he serious? He couldn't..._

"Of course, you'll have to be a member of the Crownsguard first," the prince went on, quite pleased with himself for having thought of the idea, "And as your 'mine', I'll make sure they have you trained appropriately." Regis' eyes glittered in excitement.

"Your Highness." _Crownsguard. I shall be fucking Crownsguard. I'm not..._ She remembered her mother teaching her to wield a sword. Better times. There was still money for weapons and swords. There still was a _mother_. They boy's hands balled into fists.

Raising a brow, Regis looked to the boy. "Is that something you'd find amendable?" A small smile still lingered upon seeing him gawk.

"It is a great honor." Suddenly he was down on his knees, head bowed. "I will do everything within my strength to prove worthy."

The prince, although exuberant at the sight before him, gestured him to stand. "I'm sure you will.... What was your name?"

"Cor, Your Highness, Cor--" The boy stopped. Shook his head. "Cor will suffice. I will not have another name before I made sure I do not bring shame over my family's memory."

Regis beamed. "Cor, please stand. You won't have much luck protecting me while on your knees."

And that's what the boy did, his ears and cheeks in flames. Smiling, an honest sincere smile that seemed like the first one in this lifetime. Maybe it was.

"Shall I start now?"

The prince smiled affectionately, already happy with his design. "Unfortunately, no. At least until you've started training." The young face fell a bit. "However, should you feel the desire to protect me, I will expect you to remain at my side." He was obviously charming in the exact opposite way of his father.

_But I know how to handle a sword._ He just nodded. No use in protesting. Stood to attention, as he knew it from his parents, back straight, face stern, even though his eyes were beaming with pride.

A moment passed, and Regis' smile faded just slightly. The worry behind his gaze spoke to the concern of the flush still in the boy's cheeks, but he withheld the question.

The boy waited for orders that did not come. Relaxed his stance then. _Wasn't this how it worked?_ "What shall I do, Your Highness?"

The prince blinked rather cluelessly at the question, before shaking his head casually. "Stay?" It was a question without any authority behind it. "I'm sure you're tired from ... earlier."

_I've never felt more alive._ The boy dared to look into those kind green ones. Saw helplessness, saw _shame_ he didn't understand. Wondered.

"Where do you wish me to sleep?"

A blush rose to Regis' face at the question, not used to being asked anything so overtly. He tilted his head shyly. "With me, obviously."

_Oh. So it was like father, like son after all._

"Understood," the boy said. "May I... come in?"

Regis nodded quickly. The sun had set at that point, and although it was early.... it had been a very long day.

 

***

 

The prince's apartments were something utterly different from what Cor was used to, or had ever witnessed. Dark rooms, cluttered with books and knickknacks and little mementos, pictures and parts of dead animals frozen in various _amusing_ poses covering the walls.

Cor followed him in silence, a strangely shaped shadow among others. It felt like entering the place of an old, old man, one that had spent his life collecting and was close to death, not that of a prince that hadn't quite reached his prime.

The bed was ostentatious, to say the least. As was the room, at least to the boy's eyes. Regis had disappeared for several moments into further rooms to get her a change. Another change. It seemed as if she had found herself at the center of a divide, growing under her feet, helpless to keep the powers around her from projecting their own versions and dragging her in two. However, just as her thoughts began to circle, the prince emerged with a pile of fabric in hand that shone like silk in the dim lamplight of the room. He held some out to his future bodyguard, who peered back at them curiously.

_All of this is too much_. Cor took the fabric with a slight bow, trying not to look to closely at the ornate fourposter with its patterned curtains, or the dead eyes of dead people that peered from the walls of the room, or the glowing orbs of elaborate glasswork that threw patterns of colorful light over the whole mess.

"Shall I not help you change first, Your Highness?"

Regis blushed again, looking cluelessly before nodded. "Right, of course." He dropped the pile he was holding onto the bed. "How foolish of me," he let out an innocent laugh, before looking a bit worried.

_Astrals. Was this the same man?_ The prince with the beautiful eyes and the charming smile? He reminded her of the old neighbors back home, sad old men who lost more and more parts of themselves with every passing day.

"Or do you wish me to hurry to the kitchens and get you a cup of tea--," a moment of hesitation, "...or a nightcap? It must have been a stressful day."

"Oh, no. It's just, I just -" For the first time, the prince seemed so painfully human. "Forgive me, I don't tend to involve myself with my father's affairs, and this would be the first time I've accepted one of his... offers." The tone was implicit, the underlying disgust was there.

Cor's face froze. The difference to before was only subtle.

"Understood." The bundle was fabric was gingerly placed on a chair. "Your Highness wished me to leave. Excuse me for wasting your time."

"Wait-" Prince Regis reached out to grab the boy's arm. "Please, Cor, stay." His tone was an actual ask, not so much of an order, so very unlike the command that his father held.

Cor's jaw dropped. Just the tiniest bit, but it was there. _So that was what Mors had been talking about. Well shit._

"As my prince wishes. You--" He looked around, desperately looking for a way out of this situation. "--have many books. When I was a child, I loved it when my father read my bed time stories." That was true, in a way, even when it mostly were war stories full of violence and intestines. "If you are too tired to...,," he swallowed hard. His mouth was dry. "I can read something to you until you fall asleep."

Regis softened, easing up, sliding the grip down to Cor's hand. The concern in green eyes eased, despite the way it intensified in her own. "That would be wonderful."

 

***

 

Cor had tried on the clothes he had brought her while he went to change into his PJs. Decided that they were silly. Really, really silly. It was silk indeed, some night blue robe-thing similar to the one Mors had worn, cut open til way below her ribcage. For once, she didn't curse being flat as a board. With pointy fingers she plugged at the tiny golden pearls that had been stitched onto the fabric, painting a shimmering night sky over her body. She knew this thing was supposed to be pretty, and that it was reasonable to marvel at the craftsmanship that went into it, but all she could see was a waste of someone's time.

She had tried to settle onto the bed, gotten up again, unsure of what to do with herself, of what was appropriate in this situation. Caught a look of herself in a mirror half hidden behind a collection of porcelain then. Stared in horror. This was even worse than she thought.

"You look wonderful," the prince sounded from behind Cor, who quickly stood at attention, even in the silly robe. Regis beamed from behind him, wearing another deep colored set, although far more modest in that it had two pieces. The jet black hair had had been swept back so confidently earlier was now relaxed, falling around the prince's face to his cheekbones. It occurred to his new pet that all of the offered clothes had been the personal rejects of the man, and he had to keep from making a face at the thought. Regis stepped over to the bed, cold blue eyes noted the book he had under his arm. "Please," he gestured, before climbing up into it himself. Cor made the move to sit on the end of the bed, facing the prince, who had at that point gotten under the blanket. After getting comfortable, Regis passed him the book.

 

Cor's fingers wandered over the rich ornate artwork on the cover, golden filigree that grew over deep red, and he opened it up and started to read one of the stories in there.

Read, his voice even and as deep as he managed.

Read more.

Felt the heat flush over his chest, rising into his ears.

The story had started out innocently enough, funny even, but quickly turned into one of innocent lies and a spitroast. Remained _funny_ though, and Cor found herself giggling with the prince. Looked at him, smiled as he did, and continued reading.

The prince looked on eagerly, eyes shining at his new companion.

 

It was a while still before a yawn bid Cor to stop, raising a brow as he paused. "Clarus gave me that book as an apology for nearly breaking my nose once." He said sleepily. The boy had no idea who the prince was talking about, but said nothing. "Usually, it cheers me up after a rough day," he smiled pointedly at Cor.

“I'm sorry for making it one for you.“ _Wimp. Was he seriously going to sleep now?_ He had been behaving all decently, even keeping his feet to himself.

"Not at all." Regis looked stricken, sitting up to lean  toward the boy, taking his hand.

“You're not used to this, are you?“ The  words came out before Cor could stop himself. No spite in them, the green eyes were just too _innocent_. How could they be with this father?

Regis blushed, taken aback. "Well," he started, with no follow up. Huffing slightly, the prince waved off the comment. "As I've said, I've never taken up-" he paused again, looking at Cor from the corner of his eye. "... No."

_Well shit. But why?_ The latter half came out of her mouth. “But why?“ she said, her hand still in his. “I mean...“

He leaned in, awkwardly bringing their lips together. It was sweet in a way, just missing the alignment of their mouths. The thought surfaced to Cor as to why the confused prince might have ultimately chosen to keep her.

“Sit.“ All of a sudden, her tone wasn't too deferent anymore, an older girl teaching a youngster how to do things _right_. “I'll show you.“

Deep blush rising to his cheeks, he looked as if he wanted to he reproachful toward the command, but ultimately followed.

Within moments, she kneeled before him, a little taller than him now. Looked into those gentle emeralds, her head slightly cocked. Let her fingers glide along an errant strand of his black hair. Over his cheekbone then. The stubble on his jaw. Bowed a little forward, and placed her lips ever so gently on his upper lip. Pulled back a little. His lower lip then. Let her tongue run over the little gap between them, her hand in his hair, and then, a _proper_ kiss, lips fully on his, and she noticed that she was _hungry_ for him, for this strange mix between pureness and too much knowledge of things his father did.

Prince Regis let Cor guide him, eyes fluttering shut. Hands had come to carefully grip slender shoulders, pressure gradually increasing until the kiss deepened. Then the grip _needed_.

And she gave into that need all too willingly, her eager tongue diving deep into unexplored territory. Found another of its kind there, inexperienced at first, but a fast learner. She noticed the little sounds she made, too high, too _girly_ , a giveaway to any who cared.

And the hands continued, one down to grasp too noticeable ribs through the thin fabric, the other to the back of the boy's neck. Regis hummed in response, creating a breathy harmony.

_Some of his dad in him after all._

For a while, she played with him, teasing and taunting and sucking. Pulled back in the end. Let herself fall down on the bed, legs to her side, even though her body was only too willing to spread them. “Now you try.“

Slowly, the prince crawled over her form. His breath fell on the side of shallow, and she blinked up at him expectantly. Fortunately, this time he took to it much easier, lowering himself smoothly and landing his lips with perfectly applied pressure, tilting his head just so. His body lowered still, and he found his hips coming up to rest on Cor's backside. Moving to embrace her, he tried to deepen the kiss, lips parting as his breath fell heavily before a tentative tongue ducked out to prod into the mouth instructing his. It wasn't the suavest movement, but the sensation was still enough to bring a wetness back to her attention. She pushed back on the prince's hips, finally noting the hardness there. He moaned, rocking his hips forward. Suddenly, it stopped, and he had jumped back. "I'm sorry..."

“What? No! Nothing to be sorry about, Re-- Your Highness. Really not.“

_Please don't tell me he's finished already_.

He looked stunned, moreso at himself. Sighing, he set himself back down onto her.

“Shall we go slower?“ Her hands were in his hair again, dense and dark and shiny, caressing the silky strands.

Despite the shy nod he gave in reply, it wouldn't take long before he melted back onto the body under his once more. Arms snaked their way around bony hips and shoulders, hand cradling Cor's head as he brought his mouth down to hers again needily. The firmness in his pants was still present, but he kept his hips still as he moved, taking to holding her tightly instead.

Soon she was pulling his hands from her chest, playfully kissing royal fingertips, trying to keep him at bay, trying to keep him from discovering what little there was.

“Lie down, will you?“

Regis rolled off of her, laying back into his earlier spot on the bed. He looked apprehensive, in spite of the longing way he looked at Cor.

“Close your eyes.“

She had done this before, even though it was rarely willingly. This time, in this position, with one like _him_... it felt like taking back something.

And he followed her order, taking a deep breath.

She knelt down at his side. Opened button by button, placing slow kisses after every one. Let her nails drag over the dark hair that covered his chest. For her, this was as new as for him. Not the half-naked man, not his hard cock she touched through the silk, but that it was tender and slow and in _her hands_. It was so _nice_ to watch him, so... was that what _intimate_ meant?

Small sudden breaths that brought about the rise and fall of the chest beneath her fingertips fascinated her, and unwittingly, it made the firmness stretching his pants twitch. He ran his hands uselessly out along the sheets beneath him, finding a knee, running his hand along her shin and gripping trustingly.

“I will make Your Highness come, if Your Highness wishes it.“ _Beg me for it._

Pointy fingers closed around the head of the sceptre hidden under silk.

The touch was enough to send a jolt through his body, and a thankful moan left his mouth. "Yes, _please_ , Cor." The prince breathed, ashamedly turning his face away as he did, eyes screwed shut. He already dripped through the sheer fabric, leaving a dark stain under her hand. "Please make me come," he followed up with, peeking through to his pet.

She bit her lip to suppress the triumphant little smile that rose on her face. What his father did with his tongue, the son did with his words, and she hitched the fabric of her robe as she scooted down between his legs. Dragged down the waistband to free a cock that was so much more lively and clear in its wishes than its owner and let her tongue run over it, tasting salt and _human_. Shuddered in delight as she ran her fingers down into her own wetness. She wanted him to fill her, to lose himself inside of her for what might be the first time, but...

Her mouth closed around him just in time he wouldn't hear her sigh.

Regis gasped a slow gasp, hips rocking of their own volition as her tongue wrapped around the tip of him and a low moan consistently hummed from his chest. He wouldn't notice her playing with herself as his back arched, eyes blissfully shut.

She watched him as she worked, his fingers clenching into the fabric at first, into her hair then, pushing her down further. A distant part of her head noticed that he smelled _nice_ , tasted _nice_ , clean and somehow _innocent_.

Her own fingers on her clit were way rougher then she was with him, pinching and rubbing the sensitive surface.

He throbbed in her mouth, his knees quaking. Just as she sucked a consistent tug on his cock, he sighed, peering back down at her. "Cor..." he nearly whined, rubbing the short hairs on the back of her head as his breath fell into increasingly erratic sighs. It was harder for her to keep him still under her touch, the firmness trying to bat at the back of her throat surprisingly, and she moaned around him.

Cor tried to swallow him deep, as deep as she could, choked on him and felt the water rise in her eyes, and yet, she continued. Forced herself down deeper, retching around him. Came up for a desperate gasp of air and tried anew.

As she made it down around him once more, his fingers dug into her scalp as an agonized groan left his mouth as he was wracked with the throes of an early orgasm, spilling out into the back of her throat.

She swallowed down without tasting. Tried not to gag as the spurt hit her uvula. Managed only barely. Slowly pulled back then, placing a kiss on the still swollen tip.

His face was so different, so _relaxed_ , and had a beauty she hadn't seen in him before.

It was a little eternity before Regis came to his senses, stuck in a haze. Blinking down to the boy, it was if he saw him for the first time. Flushed, he sat up, moving to gather the slender form in his arms, before placing a loving and passionate kiss on his mouth. He almost seemed to flinch when he could taste saltiness and saliva, but it didn't stop him, easing past the boy's thin lips to do it.

 

***

 

“After that, it was..  kind of _a thing_? The king and his knave?“ She got up to get another bottle.

Prompto blinked, stunned. By this point, his eyes were gleaming with the watery shine too much alcohol created, and he watched her return. All of the king-fucking talk had gotten the poor thing noticeably bothered, semi-hard but ambivalent about it. Pensive too. He quirked a brow, "Is _that_ why you don't want to fuck me?"

Cor nearly spat.

“I-- the _fuck_ ?“ It took her only moments to be in his face, lifting him up by his collar. “Is that what _you want_ , Prompto? That I _fuck_ you like a piece of worthless meat? Like a _toy_ , like a slave?“

Dumbly, he gaped up at her. Blinked.

Nodded.

“-- _What?_ “

All of a sudden, she hugged him. Held him like he was the last link to a life worth living. “But _why_?“

The intoxicated kid instinctively snuggled into her, almost purring. "I like you," it was frustrated and just the side of sad, but also slurred. "Makesssense though, that'sa lot." And he patted her shoulder reassuringly. It was funny.

“You're drunk,“ she chuckled, not entirely sober herself. “And it still has to be your fucking decision, because you're a free man, no matter what they say.“

He nodded quickly, smiling and hugging her back, arms and face squirreling around like a ferret. "And I still want you to."

“If you still want that when your head isn't filled with booze, we can work something out.“ _Perhaps. Maybe. And I still didn't get my shower, and you're so young, and so very much not me, and..._ She bowed her head, pressed a kiss onto the blond hair.

A whine from the boy at that, as he buried his face into her chest, flat as it was. "Why? Now'sh good." He found himself casually brushing around her scar, huffing in a petulant frustration as he blinked a curious eye at it.

Her eyes were so horribly _sober_ again. “If you really _like_ me, later will be better. If it's something else and words and alcohol is what made you say that... I don't want to work with a man who regrets what he did. Poisons the atmosphere.“

Prompto seemed the most dejected in that moment she had ever seen him, releasing her waist pretty quickly after that. He sat down on the mat again, looking as if he wanted to pick a fight for several moments. Just as Cor thought to speak, he huffed, throwing himself down on the mat and pulling a blanket over his head. "Maybe later though?" He mewled, muffled and sad from under the fabric.

“Depends on you, Prompto.“ She got up. Shower. Coffee. That whole thing had cost her enough time. If Scientia wanted to make new trouble, she wouldn't be so _nice_.

Faint snoring could already be heard from the pile of blond boy on the floor.

 

***

 

She wasn't there when he woke, but a note on how to get food here, and that she wouldn't be back before sundown, and she'd be lucky if it was that early. _Try to avoid trouble_ the note said.

 

Prompto blinked through a throbbing headache, still in the same position he was in from the moment he threw himself down the night before. He ached, stiff as all hell, the smell of old booze seeping out of his pores. Sighing, he stumbled into a shower and back out. The bloodied, torn clothes from the night before sat in a pile on a laundry bin, and Prompto sighed, recalling lengthy tales from the previous night, but being fuzzy on the details. Cor had come home looking a mess, got very naked, honest, and then drunk with him and.... That had been it. His clothes were all still on, and he had slept pretty solidly, that was for sure, but where had Cor gone? Prompto found himself staring at the note with a frown. Hopefully he hadn't said anything to make her mad. After throwing on a nondescript shirt and pants that belonged to the Marshal, he pocketed her note and stepped out of the apt, slamming the door behind him.

 


	7. Cor/Regis II

The King of Lucis swam in a sea of flesh. Hands and mouths and moist holes writhing around him, seeking pleasure, seeking fulfillment, but between it all, Regis was only watching himself, staring into the reflecting tiles that covered the ceiling. Stared at his pale skin, the long grey hair that was spread around his head like a halo. He was still beautiful, wasn't he? Still full of life, signs of the decay the ring brought barely visible, lean and upright and...

“Your Majesty?“

He had not heard the servant approaching, but then, discretion was what she was here for.

“The Marshal wishes to see Your Majesty, and they will not go away. Shall they be told to wait until this is finished?“

The name fell upon his ears like a hush over the room, the writhing about him falling away. "The Marshal?" King Regis stated more than questioned, but observed his expression above him as it twisted into a curious look. The robe he wore was open, leaving him as exposed at the rest of the room. As he turned to regard the direction of the servant, his knee idly swatted away at a lone mouth that was closing around his semi-flaccid cock. Leaning over, he postured on his side, graceful and languid even in the swarm about him. "Send her in presently." Another knee swat, and the body receded back into the mess. It wasn't a straight shot to his side, as Cor would soon discover.

“His Majesty will endure their presence for a while.“

She stared at the girl, one of three with the same face, and once again would have sworn the girls were not _quite human_. Too symmetrical, and there was just something

about them that itched her the wrong way.

“So I can come in?“ she asked for reassurance, and the servant raised her brows. Smiled politely. *They may follow us.“

 

 

Cor's boots had made their way through worse messes than what was on the ground here. Two-legged maggots of all shapes and sizes, and in the midst, their king. _Her king_ . A painful sting in her heart. Suddenly she remembered why she hadn't really protested when he sent her away for longer and longer periods of time after the wedding, and how he somehow always was _worse_ when she came back.

“Your Majesty.“ Her uniform a black hole in here, drowning out the soft light. _Stand to attention. Don't look too closely._

All too happy to see her, Regis swelled, picking himself up and standing. " _Cor_." The tone dripped with affection, the longstanding sort. The Marshal held firm, even as he threw his arms around her like the old friends they could have been, as if they weren't surrounded by a mass of entwined limbs and moaning. "I see you've finally returned to me now that the war has been won." Arms that wouldn't let go draped around her with an obvious want, bodies pressed far too closely together.

“The war is not over, Your Majesty, even with Niflheim on the ground.“ _And you fucking know this, Reggie, in the rare moments your mind is still here. Astrals._

She kept position. Didn't even kick as a mouth explored the shiny black leather of her boot.

An errant hand wandered up into her short hair, tangling in it, while the other came to grip her shoulder. Regis radiated a similar smugness that Cor could swear that Scientia had learned, and just as she thought he would pull... He only began to play with her hair fingers twirling at the base of her skull, stepping back to meet her gaze. The touch was _innocent_ , as was his smile, maddeningly so, especially amongst their surroundings. "Then what brings you here?" The tease would not go unnoticed.

"A year and a day."

_That is how long you send me away, searching for a cure that probably doesn't even exists. The fourth time now. Just let me go if you can't bear my presence. There will be no ill will, and I don't have to watch you becoming this._

She felt warmth snaking up her legs. They were clinging unto her, excited by the new, strange experience of coarse fabric and unwilingness. _What are they on this time? Something new that promised youth and immortality?_

"Has it been so long already?" Regis affectionately smiled, hands slipping down to hold her own. You would not be able to tell his status from the way he presented himself outside of the fact that, despite the mass of writing bodies around them, no one dared fill the seat he had left. Gesturing to it simple as if before a lake, he sat. "Stay." It was a simple order, heavy with connotation.

“I can't be of use here, my king.“

And yet, she wanted to stay, at least a part of her, the one that wanted to plant a kiss on his smiling lips. Other than his hair, his appearance hadn't changed much at all, and to garner a glimpse at the way his heart had brought a iron ring around hers.

"You'll always been of use to me." Another even smile, and like pushy dance partner, he tugged on her hand. Withholding a roll of her eye, she sat, still all awkward angles, clothed elbows and knees sticking out in a sea of smooth wet fleshy curves. It was only then she could notice the ornate mural on the walls around them, all too familiar gold, but midnight black, whereas everything under Mors had been white. A casual arm placed behind her, and the King caressed her arm affectionately. The agitation of the ring only just covered by the haphazard robe, and Cor tried not to care.

_He had them painted over._

 

It came as a shock to her. She knew these pictures all to well, Mors on his throne, being worshiped by all there was on this star, but now it was Regis sitting in his stead, huge and radiant. It felt like betrayal to her.

"You don't want to know what I found, if anything at all? Has your son gotten better in my absence?"

Somebody's hands between her legs now, kneading through the fabric. She was happy for her choice in clothing. Things sturdy enough to withstand the war outside were usually sturdy enough to withstand the war  in here.

The king's face twitched at the mention of his son, face falling a bit. His presence about her persisted, however, as she felt the hand behind her drape over her shoulders, bringing her gaze to meet his. "Had you any news for me regarding Prince Noctis, surely you would have alerted me to it by now." Another sickeningly sweet smile, so like the innocent ones from so long before, but tainted, as fingertips came to possessively brush along the ribs so close to her scar.

"I--," she hesitated. Something about him was _off_ , even more than the last time, and it made her keep her silence about what she found. It was only a faint hope anyway, and...

She slapped away the fingers nestling at the buttons of her pants.

ust as soon as one retreated, another sprang up, hands still snaking around her ankles, up and up to her thighs. Cor sucked her teeth angrily, kicking, but Regis used the opportunity to lean in, brushing his lips along her neck.

She hissed. "Is my king _ordering this_?"

"Is anything I ask _not_ ?" He whispered back in her ear, running a hand down her spine as he kissed her jawline. She kept still, even as fingertips came to grip at her hip, teeth nipping at her ear. "It's been some time, _Cor_." The way he said her said her name made her eyelid cringe.

"Years, Your Majesty."

She had been younger than, way younger, and he still a married man. The queen had not been amused to find the marshal bent over her throne, but watched in silence while her husband drove into her. Watched the motionless face of the young woman, keeping eye contact all the time. Watched Regis come into her suddenly so very tight ass, oblivious to what was going on, calling Cor his _pretty little boy_ . She had gone before he opened his eyes again. Cor's _field work_ started soon after that, and she never wondered why.

The hands of a girl undid her belt, and this time she didn't shoo her away.

A resentful pink hue grew across her face as Regis smiled down at the hands wandering below his favorite's waist. Gently, he held Cor's hands, not forcefully, but interlacing fingers supportively. An all too friendly hand drove right for the warmth between her legs, dancing around the fabric of her underwear and past it. The king leaned in, humming in approval and smiled into her cheekbone.

Soon it was more than one, pulling down fabric, revealing scarred skin and dark hair. Hands spreading her lips open, fingers teasing, pulling, spreading. Someone brought a vial. Added oil to a dry blossom.

Cor watched Regis intently, finding nothing of the man she once loved in this hull.

As she had been pulled down, he held onto her hands lovingly, thumbing over her palms as she was helpless to the way she was opened up before him. Still that damned sweet smile, just the side of coy. Then suddenly, she was entered. As deep blue  eyes widened, she stilled, leaning against the urge to squirm. Regis leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on her brow, not looking away.

_I could kill all of you._

_I will._

She wouldn't give them the satisfaction to make a sound. Not as they opened her up and started to fill her. Not as they started to spread her cheeks and worked their way through the tight ring of muscle there.

_This, too, shall pass._

 

Through the salt and the water that collected in her eyes, the king almost looked a little like his father. If she just imagined hard enough...

There were far too many hands on her suddenly, the king's attention only warranting more. Her face, arms, chest, hips, all being touched, gripped, gyrated on, her pussy stretched and her clit mindlessly prodded, with no mind for tact or technique. The whole while the king only stared down at her, and for the first time, he appeared smug.

_No tears._

_For none of you._

_Just your blood, to wash me clean._

"Little old me is not disturbing, am I?" A golden voice washed through a room filled with heavy breaths and moans. "Oh, do not let me interrupt you, just carry on with what you are doing to that _creature_ there, I'm sure she deserves it, I just happen to have a little, but important business with the king. Yes, thank you very much, I would like to keep my coat on, I happen to like it."

Next to nothing could have pulled King Regis' attention away from the scene beneath him, expect for this particular newcomer. His earlier servant appeared by his side, which he waved away immediately. "I can _see_ him, now go. Fail me someplace else." A worried scamper, and the king looked up to the intruder. Cor was rocked back with the force of the bodies pressing inside her, hissing under the conversation above. "What do you _want_ , Ambassador?" The king's tone was annoyed, distracted, casting a look down to the helpless body he continued to hold down.

"May I?" Two steps over a couple. "Excuse me very much?" Another one. A peculiar dance through a field of bodies, tiptoeing gingerly between them.

In the end, he stood at the king's side, leaning down, whispering into his ear, a wide smile on his face.

Cor could only observe, the pair of faces upside down, shaking in time to the thrusting inside her. A sloppy mouth found the folds of her skin, and resentment flooded her harder than the way wetness finally made her slick. Gaping in spite of her resolve, the way the man's smile spread to the king made the smallest pang of annoyance bloom in her mind. If he was going to hold her down, he should at least have the decency to watch. The feeling pitted inside her alongside an orgasm.

The smile on Regis' face froze, as the ambassador's grew even wider. He answered something to the Niff's question, and she saw Izunia nod. Pat her cheek. As he reached down to pinch her nipple, shooing away greedy hands, she was almost there, almost reaching a top she didn't want to climb, and he pinched, and he pulled hard, and he pulled her down from those that were under her, were in her, and pulled her to her feet. Made sure she was properly dressed then again, ignoring the wet cunt and the shaking knees.

The blood pounding in her ears drowned out most of their conversation. "-ou, Ambassador Izunia, for your immediate attention I'm this matter. Marshal," at this, a proud and sturdy clap to Cor's shoulder. Regis stood her upright before the other man. "Please escort our guest out," And with a swift smack to her quaking thigh, she was stumbling out of the sea of gasping moans, Izunia in toe.

The Niff was kind enough to discreetly guide her, hand on her hip, making sure she didn't get lost on the way to the door.

Led her into a little corridor after that, not far from the doors, and leaned her against the wall, so she could get her trembling knees back under control.

 

“It seems I intruded upon a most unfortunate moment.“

"You did."

Her head spun, breath still shallow, but falling through clenched teeth. Hands remained under her arms, and he noted a silent sigh as weight sagged.

“Do you wish me to help you out, as a toast to our new friendship? One prisoner to the other?“

And yet, he kept his fingers to himself, just eyeing her with slight worry.

She gave him a hard look, a solid once over. Finally, she nodded.

He was quick to undo her belt again, to dive long fingers into the mixture of moisture and oil. Caught her clit between two of them and started teasing, keeping an almost respectful distance otherwise, amber eyes focused on the dark marble of the wall.

A sharp gasp and her back arched, a grateful grunt as she rocked into his hand. Her eyes fluttered shut, bracing herself on the wall and riding her sensations for a bit. However, she looked at the strange man's face. Sighed. "Wait. Stop."

And he just _did_. Pulled away his hand and wiped his fingers on a flowery hanky he produced from one of his pockets. Beamed at her as he did, and did a mocking bow then.

“Ah, how perfectly impolite of me. Ardyn Izunia. We will be traveling together for a little while. It is my pleasure.“

His reaction only served to make her blink, nearly more confused than before. A beat, and she buckled her belt, far more aware in that moment than she had been moments before. "Marshal Cor Leonis." Standing at attention in that moment seemed vaguely idiotic, but she did so nonetheless.

“At ease, please, dear Marshal. You of course are aware that you will have your things packed and be ready to as soon as possible. I would very much approve if we could give the collar and the leash your king suggested so kindly for little old me a pass while we are in Altissia, even though I do appreciate it is the legendary lion that is taking care of me.“

He waited patiently, fully aware of the mess she had been moments ago.

Cor just nodded, studying him carefully for several beats. Not necessarily falling from attention, she quirked a brow. Deadpanned a "You been our "guest' for long?" She was still flushed.

 

 

“Gralea, when the walls fell. Quite a while indeed, and under your command now for a another while. From what I hear, it might be an improvement to my honorable host.“

A sharp exhale indicated her implicit agreement, and she finally stood at ease. Trying not to smirk, she pointed down the hall, as it seemed more of the occupants of the party down the hall were leaving. They both tucked back into the shadows, naked and inebriated bodies wandering past them. Cor wanted to say something, a warning, or apology for earlier, but looking back to Izunia, she could tell it wasn't warranted. He knew.

 


End file.
